Rhapsody in Oil
by Eurydice11
Summary: When a bored Slayer finds a mysterious painting, she finds herself sucked into an adventure that gives her more than she bargained for. Set S4 between Something Blue and Hush. B/S, **NOW COMPLETE**
1. Stormy Weather

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Takes place S4, just after Something Blue but before Hush, so Spike is still living with Giles, Willow hasn't met Tara yet, and Buffy has yet to kiss Riley (because all that changes in Hush).  Assume for the purpose of this fic that Willow isn't gay (and not because I don't love Tara, because I miss her terribly and thought she and Willow were wonderful together but they haven't even met yet here so I'm taking liberties).  Also, Spike has yet to discover that he can hurt demons (because that happens later in S4) or what his true feelings for the Slayer are (because that happens in S5).

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  I don't (or can't seem to) write short fics, and this one doesn't look like it's going to be any different.  This is a Spike/Buffy story, although I reserve the right to add others as it progresses, because as you know, anything can happen…

*************

It came out of nowhere.  One moment, the midnight sky was twinkling down in refreshing mettle; the next, sheets of rain were sweeping across the cemetery, blacking out the heavens as the gales whistled over the headstones, the distant rolls of thunder adding their bass voices to the storm's song.  A mouse tried skittering to safety under a bush, only to find itself picked up, tossed around like a lost ship at sea, and unceremoniously deposited over twenty yards away, muddied and more than a little dazed.  On unsure feet, it disappeared into the darkness.

Pulling her very non-waterproof jacket closer around her thin frame, Buffy bent her head against the wind as she headed back to the graveyard's gate.  Slaying called on account of rain, she thought irritably.  And Giles better not give me any crap for it 'cause I ain't in the mood.  

It hadn't been a good night for patrolling.  Within ten minutes of reaching the cemetery, Buffy had encountered two newly born vamps about to start snacking on an elderly lady who'd only wanted to pay her dearly departed a late visit.  But, when the Slayer had promptly staked both demons, Granny had turned on her, beating her about the head with her very large purse, screaming something about gangs and colors.  For a moment, Buffy had actually considered trying to reason with her, but that thought quickly vanished when the bag landed especially hard on her shoulder.  The blonde had turned and fled, convinced the old woman was packing something to the equivalent of a ton of bricks, putting as much distance between them as quickly as possible.  It's not even like I can hit her back, she'd thought grumpily as she ran.  Stupid right and wrong.

It had gone downhill from there.  Something green had immediately disappeared the moment it saw her, and before she could set chase to it, three vampires decided that it was their turn to die by jumping her from behind.  She'd dusted the first with absolutely no effort.  When she'd turned and faced the others however, Buffy had been greeted by the pointy end of a very long sword, with a grinning vamp on its other side.

"You know what they say about demons overcompensating with their weapons," she quipped.  "Big sword, little di---."  Her words were cut off as she expertly side-stepped an awkward lunge, sending the armed vamp sprawling, but not before the tip of his blade snagged on the hem of her blouse with an audible rip.

"Hey!" she cried out, her brows furrowed as she fingered the hole in the fabric.  "This was one of my favourite shirts!"  Leaping into the air, Buffy flipped herself over the head of the standing vampire, landing softly on the ground behind him.  Before he could react, the Slayer had plunged her stake into his back, turning to face the last of the trio before the dust had even settled.

"This would go a lot faster if you'd just cut off your own head," she said lightly.  When he just stared at her blankly, she sighed.  "No?  Well, if you insist…"

A carefully aimed kick at his wrist sent the sword flying through the air and Buffy dashed to catch it before it landed, swinging it around in a liquid arc that separated the vamp's head from his body, both disintegrating in a shower before hitting the ground.  Giving the blade a swish or two, she nodded, saying, "Gotta love new toys."

The storm had started almost immediately after that, and the Slayer had decided to pack it in for the night, tucking the sword under her jacket before heading out.  She was only yards away from the gate when she bumped into the tiny demon.  Literally.

It certainly looked harmless enough as it stared up at her with huge black eyes.  Barely reaching her waist, it was covered in a thick fur that was now matted down from the driving rain.  In fact, if it wasn't for the long curled horns on either side of its pug nose, Buffy would've said it looked something like an Ewok, only not quite as cute.  Its short arms clung to the package it was carrying, and the young woman watched as it slowly began to back away from her.

"I don't want any trouble," it whined in a high-pitched voice.  "I just want to go home."

"That makes two of us," Buffy sighed as she pulled the sword out from underneath her coat.  Her eyes widened as the demon squeaked in terror, dropping its package and scurrying off into the storm.  "OK, not what I was expecting, but it'll work."  Squinting against the rain, she walked over to where the parcel had fallen, bending over to run her fingers over the odd, water-tight paper that protected it.  "Must be my lucky night," she muttered, before slipping it under her arm and resuming her march home.

*************

The light was on in her room when she pushed the door open, and Buffy was surprised to see Willow still awake, hunched over a book at her desk.  At first, the redhead only glanced up at the new arrival, but seeing the saturated Slayer plop her things down in the middle of the floor before collapsing on her bed was enough to drive her to her feet, rushing to her friend's side.  

"What happened to you?" she asked, her eyes scanning the dishevelled form of her best friend.

"About a million buckets of water," Buffy groaned.  

Willow grabbed the other girl's hands and pulled her back to her feet.  "You're going to soak your sheets," she admonished.  "You don't want it getting out that the Slayer has bedwetting issues, do you?"

"Ha ha, very funny."  The blonde began peeling her jacket from her wet shoulders, grimacing as the material came away with a sticky plop.  "I'm almost wishing I'd stayed here to study with you tonight."  At her friend's widened eyes, Buffy hastened to add, "I said, almost."

"Did you at least catch lots of bad guys?"

The Slayer nodded.  "Sunnydale is officially minus five more vamps."  She leaned over and picked up the blade from the floor.  "Plus I got this nifty sword."

"What's this?" asked Willow, squatting to finger the wrapping on the package.  

Buffy shrugged.  "Some teddy demon dropped it.  I figured Giles might be interested in it."

The redheaded witch turned a shiny face to her friend.  "Let's open it."

"Really?  That's awful renegade of you, Will."  She settled down on the floor, crossing her legs and pulling the parcel onto her lap.  "It's probably ruined anyway.  All that rain can't be good for whatever's in here."

"That's it, go with the rationalization."  The young Wicca ripped the tape that bound it closed, tearing away the covering in obvious excitement.

"Geez, eager much?" asked Buffy, her brows lifted in amusement.

Willow blushed.  "Must be latent Christmas envy," she admitted, and sat back on her heels, looking down at what her hasty unwrapping had revealed.

The colors seemed to glow in the artificial light, the figures almost leaping off the canvas as they stood, frozen in mid-swirl, smiles plastered on their beautiful faces as the unheard music played behind them.  Scarlet…sapphire…gold…emerald…each had a life of its own, whether it was in the flowing dresses of the female dancers or the tiles of the floor.  Even the black of the men's tuxedoes appeared to come to life, providing a midnight satin that just ached to be touched.

Buffy's fingers traced the gilt frame, dancing along the whorls, her attention fixed on the elegance of the painting.  As she slid her hand over, an index finger pointed to lightly touch the raised ridges of one of the evening gowns, Willow's own hand shot out and slapped the Slayer's wrist.

"Your mom has run a gallery for how long and you still don't know you shouldn't touch paintings?" she scolded.  "The oil in your skin can destroy it.  You know that."

Buffy sighed, her hazel gaze still locked wistfully on the picture.  "How come life can't be like that?" she mused.  "All pretty dresses, and being Fred and Ginger around the dance floor.  Plus guys in tuxes, always a bonus."  As she shifted her weight, her clothing squished around her and she frowned in distaste.  "All I get is demon goo and vampire dust, not to mention no hazard pay for slaying in storms."

The redhead reached to pat her friend's shoulder, but at the first wet contact, pulled away, her nose wrinkling as she wiped her palm on her own pants.  "I know things seem really tough right now," she said, "especially since you're feeling all Andrea Gail.  But it's nothing a good hot shower and tons of chocolate can't cure."  Willow straightened, brightening.  "Hey, and it could be worse.  At least you're not engaged to Spike anymore."

Buffy glowered at the young witch.  "I told you _never to bring that up again," she threatened._

Willow visibly shrank, ducking her eyes.  "Sorry."  Her gaze flickered over to her desk.  "Wanna cookie?  I've still got some."

Sighing, the Slayer picked up the painting by its frame, scanning it with longing.  "Something this pretty's gotta be stolen.  Betcha Giles makes me give it back."  Rising to her feet, she propped it on her desk, angling it so that she could view it from her bed.  "Well, tonight at least, it's mine.  I'll just worry about giving it up in the morning."

*************

He lay on his back, hands behind his platinum head, a smile curling his lips.  Only moments earlier, he'd woken from another of those dreams, one of the fantasies that had been coloring his thoughts since Red's spell had been reversed.  This time, Buffy'd been straddling him, her golden body a tight sheath as she rode his cock, head thrown back, hair flowing down her spine.  All he'd had to do was lie back…and enjoy.

Sure, Spike had had thoughts about shagging the Slayer prior to Willow's "my will be done" fiasco, but since feeling the reality of her in his arms, her lips on his, her tiny hands roaming over his back as their tongues did battle, those thoughts had become constant, filling his every sleeping minute as well as a good number of his waking ones.  The urge to throttle her was still very much there, but now it was combined with a heightened awareness of her physicality…how her hazel eyes danced in anger when they argued…the way her hips swayed as she flounced away from him…the curve of her breasts that was only accentuated further when she folded her arms across her chest.  Even now, his mouth watered as her image danced across his mind's eye, and he ran his tongue along his teeth as he savored the sensation.

The knock at the door barely registered on his consciousness.  It wasn't his bloody flat and he certainly had no intention of playing Jeeves for the Watcher.  Besides, even though the rain was still coming down in waves, it was still day outside, and he wasn't running the risk of a certain flaming death, not for reheated pig's blood and shackles in the bathtub.

He heard the doorknob slowly turn and stiffened, wondering if Rupert was about to get burgled.  Figures it'd happen when he's out and about, leavin' me here helpless to defend myself, Spike thought, silently sliding his right foot over and down until it hit the floor.  He was about to ease the rest of his weight onto the carpet when the scent assailed his nostrils, and he paused as familiarity seeped into his senses.  Vanilla…the light sweat…only one person it could be…

"Giles?" Buffy called out.  Spike heard the door shut, the Slayer take a few tentative steps into the room.  No reason to let her know he was there, she'd find out soon enough.  "Giles?" she repeated, coming in even further.

The erection with which he'd awoken had eased in the past few minutes, but the sound of her voice brought it back with a raging vengeance.  Spike closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, as his jeans tightened uncomfortably, and slowly lifted his leg back up onto the couch to ease the pressure on his groin.  What she might know could potentially kill him, so better to just keep this not-so-little secret to himself.  The sound of paper rustling, then ripping, jerked his lids back up, and he frowned as he strained to figure what exactly she was doing.  Shit, footsteps…

"What're you doing?"  Buffy loomed over him, the you-annoy-me-by-just-being-here look in her eyes, her arms folded across her breasts.

The blond vampire casually crossed his ankles, lowered his arms to his waist, doing his best to nonchalantly hide his arousal.  "Most people call it lyin' down, Slayer," he responded.  "What're you doin'?"

He didn't even see the fist as it shot out and connected with his nose, and with his head against the pillow, there was no room for his head to go from the recoil.  "Bloody hell!" he cried out, jumping to his feet and away from Buffy.  Gingerly, he pinched his nostril, sniffing to stop the blood from flowing, and looked at her angrily through hooded eyes.

"Where's Giles?" the young woman asked, unfazed the vampire's obvious discomfort.

"Out," he growled.  "Seems he feels the need to occasionally venture into the outside world, do somethin' that's not Slayer-sanctified.  I believe nowadays they call it grocery shoppin'."

Buffy's face fell.  "Oh."  As Spike watched, she turned away, her hazel eyes settling on the Watcher's desk, and for the first time, he noticed the large oil painting that was propped up there.  "Any idea when he's going to be back?"

"I'm not his bleedin' secretary."  He strode the long way around the couch, maintaining as much distance between them as possible, to look at the artwork more closely.  "What's this?  It's not ol' Rupe's birthday, is it?  Someone should've told me.  I'd've baked him a cake."

"It's something I picked up on patrol last night."  Stepping forward, the young woman tilted her head as she gazed at the painting, her face softening as she drank in its lovely lines.  "I don't suppose it rings any bells for you."

Spike shook his head.  "Sorry, no clang clang for this trolley.  It's good work, though.  Really captures the era."

Buffy's eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak, only to shut it almost immediately with an audible click of her teeth.  When the vampire's scarred eyebrow lifted in amusement, she said, "I keep forgetting you were actually around then."

"One of my favorite decades."  He smirked.  "Nothin' like war to really get the blood flowin'."

"Ewww."  Turning back to the painting, Buffy sighed.  "Still, it must've been nice.  Everything seems so elegant in there, doesn't it?  Like out of one of those old movies Mom is always trying to make me watch with her."

"Appearances can be deceiving, Slayer."

She didn't hear him.  In fact, in her head, she wasn't even there anymore.  Instead of being in Giles' apartment, Buffy was imagining herself being twirled around a dance floor, silk skirts swooshing around her legs, the music suffusing her body with waves of pleasure, arms uplifted around the broad shoulders of some tuxedoed stranger.  The colors of the painting were hypnotic, blinding her to anything else in the room, sucking her in with their reality, and she didn't even realize that she'd reached out her hand, gently touched one finger to the dress hem of one of the dancers.

Spike saw it first.  The instant the Slayer's skin touched the oil of the painting, the color began bleeding into her flesh, creeping its way up her index finger…past the first knuckle…into the second.  His blue eyes widened.  "Bloody hell, Buffy," he said.  "Get away from it."

She was transfixed, frozen in place, but the vampire could see the strain in her face.  "I…can't…" she breathed.

As he watched, the hues began to seep into her entire hand, and he saw the fear leap into her eyes.  He didn't know what the hell was goin' on, but whatever it was, if something happened to Buffy, Spike just knew that Rupert would come looking for his houseguest first for some kind of answers, most likely with something sharp and wooden.  Silly bint's goin' to get me staked good and proper one of these days, he thought irritably, and grabbed her upper arm, fully intending to yank her away…

*************

Giles shifted the shopping bags to his left hand as he reached out and opened the front door of his apartment.  Flat, he mentally reminded himself.  I've been living in this country for far too long; I'm even beginning to _think in American.  _

The silence of the living room consumed him as he entered, shutting the door quietly behind him.  Spike must be asleep, he thought.  Thank god.  A few hours of peace and quiet, with no Passions or bad telly blaring in the background.  Setting down the sacks, the Watcher spotted the painting on his desk almost right away, the vividness of the portrayal jumping out at him like a shock.  That must be the picture Buffy called about, Giles realized.  I must've missed her.

Although he studied the painting for a moment longer, the Englishman quickly lost interest in it, picking it up by the frame and leaning it against the wall, its vibrant hues turned away from the room.  Whistling quietly under his breath, he retrieved the first of his shopping bags and headed for the kitchen, oblivious to the empty apartment that surrounded him…

To be continued in Chapter Two: Things Ain't What They Used To Be…


	2. Things Ain't What They Used to Be

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy got a mysterious painting from an encounter with a demon, but when she took it over to Giles', she and a very reluctant Spike found themselves somehow sucked into it…

*************

She blinked.  She had to, because what she was seeing, she wasn't _really seeing…was she?  It was her, or rather her reflection, staring back at her, but Buffy didn't recognize this person, didn't know how this…incarnation had occurred.  And it was giving her major wiggins._

Everything about her seemed…immaculate.  Her golden hair was perfectly coiffed, ends curled under, the left side swept back and held in place with a large white flower.  Equally praiseworthy was her make-up, a flawless mask of ivory perfection, highlighted by the ruby gloss that detailed the fullness of her lips.  Dramatic, she thought, but effective.  

Her hazel eyes swept down, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as they drank in the gown she was wearing.  A lush rusty red velvet, it sat slightly off her shoulders, extending down into form-fitting, three-quarter length sleeves, with small fabric-covered buttons running along the center of the bodice, ending at the princess waist.  From there, it fell in sweeping folds, an exercise in decadence as the hem just skimmed the floor, hiding the heels she could feel strapped to her feet.  Although it covered her more effectively than most of her wardrobe back in Sunnydale, the dress clung to her with a sensual grace that left very little to the imagination, her breasts rising in gentle swells above the sweetheart neckline, her waist made even tinier by the gown's fine boning.

Slowly, Buffy turned around, her eyes locked to the full-length mirror, head swivelling as she examined the view from the rear.  More opulence, more elegance, and she completed the circumvolution with even more anxiety than when she'd started.  She looked like something out of a movie.  Or maybe from…the painting…

Leaning against the dressing table at her side, the Slayer closed her eyes, the memories flooding back into her head.  The crawling sensations as the hues seeped into her skin…the inexorable tugging at her innards, drawing her forward…the wind whistling past her ears although she knew that her body wasn't actually moving…the powerlessness she'd felt when she realized she couldn't tear herself away…and the iron grip around her upper arm, melding to her flesh in an icy vise…

Her lids snapped open, her head shooting up, and Buffy pursed her lips as her jaw locked.  "Spike," she muttered, and with a graceful swirl of her skirts, she turned and marched for the door.

*************

It was the scents that hit him first.  Dozens of perfumes mingling with cologne…the musk of sweat as the couples whirled around the dance floor…and the blood, hot and heavy, pulsating in the thousands of veins that surrounded him.  It was dizzying, and the growl had escaped the blond vampire's throat before he'd even realized it.

"Which one is it?"

The masculine rumble was too low for anyone else to hear, but Spike's head whipped around to his left, taking in the bulky form of the tuxedoed man standing next to him, the stranger's black eyes constantly darting around the room even though his body was motionless.  In spite of the fleshy rolls around his neck and the thickening waistline, the man exuded strength, and the vampire felt the unexplainable urge to stand straighter, throw his shoulders back.  "Which one's what?" he asked.

The ebony gaze looked down at the blond.  "You made that noise," he explained. "So which one's the meat?  I haven't had a chance to do a number on anyone all night."  As he spoke, he clenched his fists, audibly cracking his knuckles with the movements, and stretched his neck within the collar of his crisp white shirt, almost as if he was warming up for a fight.

Spike's blue eyes narrowed as his head slowly swivelled back to survey his surroundings a little more closely.  It was the bleedin' painting, all right---although the doorway in which he stood would've been off-frame---and this was a nightclub of some sort, set smack dab in the middle of what looked like forties America.  If it was a spell, it was a damn good one, because everything around him felt real, right down to the cacophony of heartbeats on his eardrums.

"Well, Spike?" the man prompted.

The realization that he was known here, that somehow he'd been integrated in this milieu, was not lost on the vampire.  Gotta be a trick to it somewhere, he thought.  Better to just play along 'til I get it sorted.  "False alarm," he said, answering his "partner's" question, and, not knowing why, added, "He backed off."

Spike could feel the man deflate in disappointment.  "Girls are getting too good," he muttered.  "They're keeping 'em hands off on the floor all the time now.  Pretty soon, they won't even be needing us."  He smirked.  "Too bad we're not allowed in the private parties, huh?  They are some lucky bastards, lemme tell you."  His voice trailed off, and the vampire felt his gaze turn back to him.  "Not as lucky as you, though.  Must be nice having a permanent invite.  Plus, you're keeping her off the market.  I know some guys are pretty upset---."  His words cut off in a strangle as a lean hand clapped down on his shoulder.

"You talk too much, Gino."  The voice belonged to a new arrival, this one tuxedoed as well, who had come up on his partner's far side.  "He bothering you, Spike?"

Glancing up at the suddenly scared face of Gino, the vamp shrugged.  "He's just bored," he said, fishing for anything that might make sense given the current situation.  "Been a slow night."

That seemed to be all the explanation the other needed.  "Just lemme know if he's any trouble," he said, already turning away and melting into the crowd at the bar.

Once he was gone, Gino sighed in relief, almost smiling down at his partner in gratitude.  "Thanks.  They told me you were a stand-up guy.  Glad they were right."

The vamp didn't know what to say to that.  Everything about this screamed magic, yet the detail it encompassed was staggering.  Apparently, he had some kind of rep here…and the concept brought a smile to his face.  'Bout time I get recognized for my true talents, he thought, crossing his arms in front of his chest.  Too bad the Slayer's not around to appreciate it.  Remembering Buffy caused Spike to stiffen, his gaze resuming the lookout over the room.  Well, hell.  Bitch drags me into her little lala-land and then does an Amelia Earhart.  His blue eyes began darting around the dance floor, lighting on every single blonde, waiting for her to turn around, only to become increasingly agitated when none turned out to be her.

Gino grinned.  "Damn, you really are dizzy for that dame, aren't you?  You didn't last five minutes before you started looking for her this time."

"What're you natterin' on about?" Spike asked, only half-paying attention to the other man.

"Buffy.  You're looking for her, right?"

At the Slayer's name, the vamp's arms dropped as he faced off with Gino.  "You know where she is?"

"Well, yeah.  At least, I can make it a pretty good guess."  He laughed.  "You of all people should know she's the last of the girls to hit the floor.  She's probably still in the back, getting all dolled up…"  His voice trailed off as the blond rushed past him, skirting around the edge of the club, nearly knocking over one of the trumpet players as he hurried for the far exit.  Shaking his dark head, he muttered, "Lucky bastard."

*************

If he hadn't been a vampire, the stark difference in lighting between the brilliance of the dance floor and the duskiness of the back hallways would've blinded him.  As it was, Spike needed only a moment to readjust his vision before scanning the area for anything that might pass as a dressing room.  His search was short.  Within seconds, his gaze fell upon a pair arguing in the hall, a scrawny kid with a pitiful excuse of a moustache holding a clipboard and…

She was resplendent.  Even turned partially away from him, he could see her scarlet lips, made even more impossibly luscious by the make-up, lashing into the poor schmuck, the fury lending her face that familiar Slayer edge that he knew so well.  His sapphire eyes slid over the line of her jaw, exposed by the upsweep of her golden tresses, to the pulsepoint in the gentle hollow at the base of her neck.  Across the distance, it seemed to be throbbing in rhythm with his now-hard cock, and if it wasn't for the invitation of her outlined curves, Spike doubted he could've torn his gaze away from it without the help of a crowbar.

The dress made promises that any man---living or not---would've been unable to ignore, hugging Buffy's body like a second skin, demanding to be stroked…petted…caressed…and the vampire took an involuntary step closer, a moth drawn to her living flame, his arousal more intense than anything he'd felt since returning to Sunnydale.  The movement caught her eye, and in mid-argument, her head turned, ensnaring him with her hazel gaze, and Spike sensed her hesitation…

*************

"…because I'm not…" and the flash of platinum in her peripheral vision diverted Buffy's attention from the idiot standing before her.  She only meant to glance at him, to confirm that the chipped vamp had in fact followed her through; she certainly hadn't expected him to emerge from the shadows in a blaze of black and white, lean hips and broad shoulders accentuated by the double-breasted jacket of his tuxedo, one hand thrust jauntily in his trousers pocket.  Her throat constricted, and the young woman was shocked at her sudden inability to breathe, the warmth that seemed to boil out of nowhere in the pit of her stomach, pouring down the insides of her legs like molten lava.  Snap out of it, she mentally scolded herself.  It's only Spike.  Vampire, remember?

Breaking away from her dispute, Buffy closed the distance between her and her ex-nemesis, the velvet of her skirt a luxuriant swish against her legs.  "Where the hell have you been?" she hissed as she approached.

"How come you get to be the pissed off one?" he demanded.  "I'm the one who got sucked into the lookin' glass here."

"Well, no one asked you to grab me," she muttered.

"And you of all people should know better than to play touchy feely with the artwork," Spike continued.  "Hasn't Joyce taught you anything?"

"Don't.  Start."  Buffy glanced over her shoulder at the young man who still watched her, and deliberately lowered her voice.  "Scratchy back there keeps trying to drag me out front, whatever that means."

"That's because it's your job.  You're one of the dancers here, I think."  Better to keep his suspicions about the girls' other responsibilities hush right now, didn't want the Slayer getting annoyed and staking the messenger.

"What about you?  You're all…"  Her gaze scanned his suited form as she searched for the adequate words.  "Dandified," she finally said.

"Hardly."  He snorted in derision.  "Gotta give whoever came up with this scenario a little credit for dramatic irony, though.  I'm one of the bleedin' bouncers."

"And that's ironic how?" Buffy queried.  "I would've thought you'd love the idea of roughing it up…"  Her voice faded as the vamp tilted his head, his blue eyes annoyed, waiting for her to remember the whole reason he'd been stuck at Giles' in the first place.  "Oh."  She bit her lip.  "Well, the first thing to do is figure out how far the whole magic thing goes.  I mean, are we us or someone else?  I'm thinking us.  That guy called me by name."

Spike nodded.  "They know me up front, too."

"And I still feel Slayer-ish.  What about you?  Do you feel…vampire-ish?"

Sighing and rolling his eyes, he ducked his head as his game face flashed across his features, almost immediately dissolving back into his human mask.  "So.  We're still who we are.  We're just not on the hellmouth anymore."

"Stuck with you doing god knows what?  Feels like the hellmouth to me."  

She was about to go on, even going so far as to open her mouth to speak, when a door directly opposite them flew open, revealing a portly older man, face red with anger.  He pointed directly at Spike and Buffy.  "You two.  In my office.  Now."  He whirled, disappearing from view, leaving the pair just looking at each other.

"You heard the man," the blond vampire finally said, sweeping his arm toward the open door.  "Ladies first."  He held the position, his blue eyes locked with her hazel, until she acquiesced, sighing as she turned away from him and strode toward the door.  His gaze swept down her back, over her hips, imagining the lithe legs under the full skirt, and Spike's lips curled into a lascivious smile.  Yep, the view was almost as good from this end as well.  Thrusting his hands into his pockets---mostly to alleviate the strain on his trousers from his returned erection---he ambled after her.

As the door closed, the young man with the clipboard finally expelled the breath he'd been holding ever since Buffy had first started laying into him.  His heartrate was only just starting to slow; of all the girls in the club, Ms. Summers was the only one who could fluster him so effectively.  She wasn't the most beautiful---although in those kind of glad rags she definitely ranked up there---and he wasn't sure what bug had flown up her skirt tonight, but generally speaking, there was something about her, something almost…magical, and he would've done anything for her.  All she had to do was ask.  He sighed.  One thing he knew for certain, even if he and half the guys weren't thrilled about it…

Spike was one helluva lucky guy.

*************

The office was everything he'd expected it to be---dimly lit, heavy dark furniture, a tall liquor cabinet towering against the wall.  Not much else occupied the small space, and Spike, standing just behind and to the side of the Slayer, watched as the man grabbed a lit cigarette from an ashtray on his desk, stuffing it into the corner of his mouth, before settling into his chair, the leather squeaking in protest from his weight.  

"Why do you do it to me?" the man asked, his watery blue eyes resting on the pair.  "You know I like you.  Hell, you two are probably my favorite employees in the whole joint.  But you're setting a bad example.  Lola---Lola!---actually had the balls to come in here and tell me she's going to be late on Saturday, all 'cause of some newshawk she met at a coffee shop.  Not only is she stepping out with one of the worst kinds of people for those in our line of work to be associating with---outside of the cops, of course---but she's doing it on our busiest night as well.  And guess who she says talked her into it?"  He puffed out a large cloud of smoke, waiting for one of them to respond.  After a moment, he used the cigarette to point to the Slayer.  "I like you, Buffy.  That's why I pulled you from the active duty roster when you two made your little announcement.  Well, that and because Spike here threatened to tear out my eyeballs if I didn't.  But you can't be putting those kind of notions in the other girls' heads.  It ain't right."

The young woman bit the inside of her cheek.  OK, everything had just officially gone from weird to weirder.  Here she was, being called on the carpet for something she didn't even do…well, maybe she did do it but it happened before she'd even got here so how could she be held responsible for it?  And what was this little announcement he was talking about?  And where in hell did Spike fit into the whole picture?  "I'm…sorry," she finally said, hoping that that might be enough for him to let them go, her head whirling from confusion.  "It won't happen again."

The man smiled, his fleshy face creasing into multiple folds.  "That's my girl," he said, and then held up his hands in mock horror.  "Oops, sorry, Spike.  Old habit.  Guess I'm still getting used to the whole idea of you two getting hitched."

Buffy's eyes widened, and she felt the vampire stiffen behind her.  "What?" she exploded.  "Spike and I are _so __not getting married!"_

For the first time since they'd entered, the man frowned.  "Since when?" he asked.  "You two just---."  A sharp rap at the door jerked his attention.  "What?!?" he barked.

The door opened, and the young man with the clipboard poked his head in.  "Gino needs Spike out front pronto, Mr. Lombardi," he said, keeping his eyes averted from Buffy.

"Tell him he'll be there in a sec."  As soon as they were alone again, the boss stood and came around the desk to square off with the pair.  "If this engagement's off, you're going back on the roster, Buffy.  I've got at least three guys here tonight---."

From out of nowhere, the Slayer felt Spike slip his arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.  "It's not off," she heard him say, and then his mouth was an icy tickle on her skin as she felt him nuzzle her neck.  She was about to jerk away when his murmured words floated to her ears, freezing her motions.  "Go with me on this, Slayer."

Lombardi's eyes narrowed.  "But she just said---."

The vampire chuckled.  "One little fight and pet's ready to pack it in.  Trust me.  Everything's still very much a go."

"Well, if you say so, Spike," he said slowly, still unsure, his gaze flickering over Buffy again.  "Stop messing with my head, young lady," he admonished.  "And what've I told you about your dresses?  Customers want skin."

Spike's embrace tightened.  "She looks like heaven in Technicolor, and you know it," he growled.

Lombardi just shook his head and sighed.  "Fuck if I know why I put up with you two," he muttered.  "If you weren't the best in the biz, I'da tossed you out the minute I found out you two were shacking up."  Crossing to his liquor cabinet, he opened the door and pulled out a half-full decanter of whiskey.  "Now get back to work before I change my mind about the roster."

*************

In the hall, Buffy whirled to face Spike.  "What the hell was that---?" she started, only to have the words stifled as he pulled her to him, crushed his lips against hers.  She started to struggle, then felt the familiar iciness of his tongue as it began to explore the recesses of her mouth, expertly evoking the memories of their passion during Willow's unfortunate spell.  She felt herself relax in his arms, and began kissing him back, unable to answer why, hating her body for betraying her, when his lips moved from hers, sliding across her cheek to hover by her ear.

"We've got an audience," he whispered.

Buffy glanced over her shoulder and saw Scratchy watching them, his knuckles white around his clipboard.  "Go tell Gino I'll be right there," she heard Spike say over her head.  The young man hesitated, then turned and fled, at which point the vampire's arms dropped and he stepped back.

"Right," he said.  "We've only got a second so let's get this straight."

"You know what's going on?"

He half-shrugged, half-nodded.  "Sorted most of it out, yeah."

"And you were going to tell me when?"

"I'm tellin' you now, unless you're not interested, in which case, I apparently gotta job to do."  He started to turn, only to be stopped by her grip on his arm.

"Spill."

"You know that roster he keeps bringin' up?"  At her nod, he smiled.  "Well, it's not about dancin', I'm pretty sure."

"Then what is it?"

"Let's call them…extra-curricular activities.  Of the horizontal nature."  He waited as the understanding widened her hazel eyes, the shock in them almost amusing enough for him to laugh.  Better not, he warned himself.  Somehow, I don't think this is somethin' she's goin' to think funny.

"I'm a… This is a…Oh.  My.  God."  She couldn't even bring herself to say the words, could only stare at him in disbelief.

"Actually, I think it's more of a private club," Spike explained.  "I saw the clientele.  Very posh."  Behind him, the young man poked his head back into the hallway and cleared his throat.  The vampire stepped back and smiled, his head tilting in wicked amusement.  "Buck up, Buffy.  Isn't this what you wanted?  Just like in the movies…"  

She could only watch as he pivoted on his heel and sauntered away, his laughter floating back to her.  No, this is most definitely _not what I wanted, she wanted to scream, but held back.  Somehow, she was going to get through this.  She was the Slayer, right?  That's what she did.  I've survived at least three Apocalypses, I can handle doing a little dancing until I figure out a way to get back home.  She smiled grimly.  And when it was all over, a certain blond vampire was going to find himself getting very closely acquainted with a certain Mr. Pointy…_

To be continued in Chapter Three: East of the Sun and West of the Moon…


	3. East of the Sun and West of the Moon

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy and Spike have found themselves within the world of the painting, a world that looks suspiciously like 40's America, with the Slayer and the vampire engaged and living together, both working for a private club in varying…capacities…

*************

For a split second, she found herself swept away by the elegance of it all.  The room looked just as it did in the painting…the beautiful young women with their vibrant dresses…the tuxedoed men of varying age scattered amongst them…the brass band creating a heady ambience reminiscent of some wartime movie.  Even the sight of Spike with some burly dark-haired guy lurking in the doorway seemed somehow appropriate, somehow…right.

As she stepped into the club, Buffy felt the eyes of its occupants, men and women alike, turn to look at her, and she unconsciously straightened, holding her head just a little higher, her hazel eyes defiantly staring down the most blatant of the admirers.  It was obvious from the appreciative stares that not only did she look good---something even Spike had attested to, much to her astonishment---but she must have some sort of rep as well, the crowd parting automatically to make room for her to pass without hindrance.  Her gaze immediately lit upon the bar.  She could do this; she just needed a little…alcoholic support.

The bartender seemed to be waiting for the young woman as she reached the counter, an attentive smile on his leathered face.  "The usual, Ms. Summers?" he asked.

Oh my god, Buffy thought.  I have a usual.  Maintaining as calm an exterior as she could manage, she flashed the bartender her brightest smile.  "Sounds good."  When he turned away, presumably to get whatever it was she'd just agreed to, the Slayer let her eyes return to roaming over the club, assessing both guests and employees.

They were just people, some of them dancing, others talking, but none of them seemingly dangerous.  Not a demon in sight, and with nothing going off on her Slayer radar, Buffy began to wonder if maybe she'd over-reacted about the potential evil about this place.  Maybe it _was just a silly spell, some lingering charm on the painting, and once the Scoobies realized what had happened to her, she'd be home faster than she could say, "Bite me."  All she had to do was put up with a little bit of dancing and people thinking she was engaged to Spike.  How hard could that be?_

The sound of a drink being set down behind her brought Buffy back to the bar, and she turned to see the shot glass twinkling up at her.  Well, at least it's little, she thought ruefully, reaching out to pick it up.  And it's not like I haven't drunk alcohol before.  

The bartender waited, watching as she tilted her head back, the clear liquid disappearing down her throat in a delicate gulp.  It was all he could do not to shake his head; Buffy Summers was the only dame in the joint who could handle that kind of shooter and he just knew it had something to do with Spike's influence.  Lord knew that one could handle his drink; shit, the blond bouncer could handle just about anything.

Nothing could've prepared the Slayer for the shock of the liquor as it burned down her throat, stomping down her breath as it sizzled to her stomach.  She could feel the sting of tears in her eyes and blinked once, twice, before lowering her head and the glass.  Hold it together, Buffy, she thought.  This is your usual; you start crying and they'll know something is up.  Instead, she smiled, a little wavery but endlessly bright, and chirped in a voice just a little too high, "Just what I needed."

He nodded with a satisfied grin, and turned away as two men approached the other end of the bar.  As soon as she was out of his line of sight, Buffy closed her eyes, feeling the alcohol already starting to take its effect on her system, her limbs loosening, the anxiety in her gut easing.  I can do this, she reassured herself.  It's only dancing, right?  I've certainly done enough of that.  

Squaring her shoulders, the Slayer turned to face the club just as the band picked up its instruments to launch into a loud, brassy number.  Her smile faded as she saw the couples take to the floor, their feet moving faster than she thought imaginable, skirts flying through the air as the women were whipped around and dipped, the energy pulsating against their skins as the beat of the music swept them into a frenzy.  The small of her back pressed into the counter as she leaned backward, and she felt rather than saw the bartender return behind her.

"Get me another," she murmured, her hand fumbling to her side to push the shot glass closer to him.

*************

So far, so good, thought Spike.  Gino's earlier problem had been solved without any physical interference on behalf of the vampire; a few choice words in the offending gentleman's ear and everything had been settled within moments, with no one, except for the bird whose "honor" had been sullied, any the wiser.  Truth be told, he was rather chuffed with himself.  Although he definitely missed the actual fighting, knowing Big Bad could scare just as devilishly with only his words was a tremendous boost to his ego.  And the look on the bloke's face had been priceless.  Even now, two hours after the confrontation, he jumped every time Spike's resolute face came into view.

The only fly in the ointment was the Slayer.  The vampire had watched as she downed three straight shots, and even across the room, he could feel her intoxication, hear the blood pounding through her veins.  She wasn't actually doing much dancing; in fact, she seemed to be doing everything she could to avoid the main floor, flirting and laughing with the group of men encircling her at the bar instead.  Occasionally, she'd allow herself be led out for a slow waltz, but every time someone slid his hand down a little lower than was appropriate, or held her just a little too close, Spike's eyes narrowed, his jaw tensed, and the thunder in his gut threatened to turn his hands into fists.

At one point, Gino leaned over and whispered, "Relax.  She's just doing her job.  You're the one she's going home with tonight, remember?"

The vampire snorted.  "Hardly jealous here," he muttered, his blue gaze darkening to the shade of storms, riveted on her scarlet form.

The other bouncer laughed.  "Whatever you say, Spike," he said, but the disbelief in his voice was obvious.  

The thing of it was, the blond vamp didn't know how he felt.  What Buffy did certainly wasn't his business…except when everyone thought they were a couple.  In this world, the Slayer was his---how many times had _that been made clear to him tonight?---and as much as he didn't want to admit it, Spike was possessive, hating to share what he claimed with anyone.  When Dru had been so attentive to Angelus during that whole Acathla debacle, it had eaten him up, ripped out his heart to see her fawn all over the ponce, to witness the wanker's hands on his dark princess' slender form.  But this is different, he mentally argued with himself.  I bloody well loved Dru, and this is…Buffy…_

…Except it didn't feel any different.  The anger was there, boiling under his skin, and Spike could only think that it was because it seemed as if he was being made a fool of yet again, that people were thinking that the woman they believed was his, was only interested in getting as many men as possible.  Well, of course they are, he chastised himself.  That's her fucking job.  And so, the internal battle raged, back and forth, sending the vampire's mood into a seemingly endless downward spiral, until finally, even Gino was beginning to feel frightened of what he might do.

When the conductor announced the last dance of the evening, Spike bolted from his post, striding determinedly to the bar and the cluster of men who surrounded Buffy in her chair.  He heard her laughter tinkle in the air, smelled the perfume of her skin, and felt his irritation spread like wildfire.  Reaching past the throng, the vampire wrapped his grip around the velvet of her upper arm, yanking her from her perch.  "C'mon," he growled.

"Spike!" Buffy cried, her face brightening as she stumbled against his chest.  Steadying herself with an open palm, she turned a beaming face back to the other men.  "This is Spike.  He works here, too.  He's my boyfriend."  She swung around to face the vampire again, swaying slightly as she did so.  "And we're going to get married, aren't we, Spike?"

He heard someone mutter, "Lucky bastard," diverting his attention momentarily from the Slayer's body pressed against his.  He could smell the alcohol on her breath, and wondered when he'd missed her downing more of the shots.  "You're drunk," he stated, holding her up firmly with both hands.

The young woman pouted.  "No, I'm a ray of sunshine.  I work here at the Rising Sun, and that makes me a ray of sunshine.  Right, guys?" she asked of the men behind her.  Their vehement nods were the only affirmation she needed, as she looked back up to Spike.  "Oh!  Show them your bumpies!"  Her head whipped around in excitement.  "You've got to see this!  When he gets all mad and scary, his face goes all ridgy and he growls and everything."  Buffy giggled.  "He thinks he's the Big Bad, but he's not.  He's just a widdle puppy, aren't you, Spike?" 

He sighed.  She might as well slap a sign on his back that said "vampire" if she was going to go on prattling like that.  Had to nip this in the bud before it got even more out of hand, but he just knew that pulling on her any harder would set off the bloody chip, and it certainly didn't look like she was going to come with him of her own accord.  Time to try another tactic…

Leaning over, the blond vamp ran a proprietorial kiss across her cheek, his arm sneaking around to hold her even tighter against him.  "It's the last dance, Buffy," he murmured, just loud enough for the others to hear him.  "You always save that one for me."

"I do?"  Her hazel eyes widened as she looked up at him, then softened as she smiled.  "Of course, I do.  Because you're my _boyfriend."  She turned to her now-disappointed admirers.  "Sorry, guys."  _

She let herself be led out onto the floor, and melted into his arms as he pulled her into the slow dance.  Spike's eyes darted to Gino and then the back exit, hoping against hope that Lombardi wouldn't decide to make an appearance.  Somehow, he had a feeling that employees who fraternized during business hours were at the top of the boss' not-good list.

As she snuggled against his chest, the blond vamp caught the first whiff of it, the unmistakeable aroma of her excitement.  During their spell-induced engagement back in Sunnydale, he'd certainly learned quickly what she smelled like when she got all hot and bothered, and here it was again, only this time…thicker…more intense…and infinitely more mouth-watering…His own arousal jumped to attention, and he found himself holding her even closer, appreciating the curve of her breast against him, the soft skin of her hand an inferno in his own grasp.

He ended the dance in oblivion, conscious only of her body pressed against his, and was almost shocked when she pulled away and started clapping with the rest of the crowd.  He was about to lead her back to the dressing room when Gino's hand clapped down on his shoulder.

"Car's out front," the other bouncer whispered in his ear.  "Get her outta here.  I'll cover with Lombardi."

"Thanks," Spike muttered, and with a firm grasp on her arm, piloted the Slayer toward the front door.

*************

So lost in her thoughts, she almost didn't hear him as she walked down the hall, her bag swinging against her hip.  "Willow!" he yelled again, and this time the redhead turned to see Riley rushing up to meet her, his wide brow furrowed in worry.  "Are you going to see Buffy?" he said as he reached her side.

She shrugged.  "Probably.  Kinda goes hand in hand with living with her.  Occasionally, we do bump into each other.  Why?"

Reaching into the stack of books in his arms, he pulled out a thick folder and handed it to her.  "She was supposed to pick this up from me today, but she never showed."  He paused.  "She's not…mad at me…is she?"

"Buffy?  No, not that I know of."

He let out a sigh of relief.  "She's just been acting so…weird lately.  I mean, there was that whole I'm-engaged-no-I'm-not thing, which still seems awfully strange to me, and now she's not showed for two of our meetings.  A guy could start getting ideas, and not necessarily very flattering ones.  I'm not sure my ego could handle that right now."

"She's just busy," Willow assured him.  "I will properly scold her for being so callous about not letting you know, I promise."

"Thanks."  Riley smiled.  "This would be a lot easier if I didn't like her so much."           

"Relationships and easy only go together in Fabio novels.  Real life is a lot messier than that.  People fight and make stupid choices, but all that just makes the nice stuff much…nicer…"  The redhead's voice trailed off as she grimaced.  "Sorry.  That sounded way more insightful in my head."

"Well, thanks anyway."  Willow watched as the young man ambled away, her face immediately settling into a frown when he disappeared from view around the corner.  She'd been a little worried when Buffy hadn't shown for psych class, but now, hearing that she'd missed other stuff as well, the witch was getting a little worried.  Maybe Giles knew something about the painting, she thought, as she started walking again.  Better call him when I get back from the library…

*************

Yep, Spike thought as they stepped out into the cool night air, forties California.  The long black car parked along the curb reeked of the era, as well as the styles of the signs and buildings that decorated the street.  Chalk another one up to the longevity of the vampire.

As soon as the pair emerged onto the sidewalk, a waiting chauffeur opened the back door of the auto, moving back to allow them room to climb into their seats.  "Home, sir?" he queried as Spike waited for Buffy to get in.

Oh, this one oughta be good, the vamp thought, and drawled, "Sure."

He got in to find the Slayer with her skirts up around her thighs, hands tugging at the sandals that seemed glued to her feet, and Spike found his gaze straying to the nylon-clad curve of her leg as she struggled with them.  "Stupid shoes," she finally cried out, and thrust them at the vampire.  "You seem to be the expert on everything else tonight," she said.  "_You get them off."_

The movement shoved her dress up even further and Spike saw the chauffeur glance in his rearview mirror at the pair, his eyes narrowing.  Shit, he thought.  Forgot about the reflection business.  Shifting so that he would be out of the other man's line of sight, the vampire took Buffy's small foot in his hand and skilfully undid the buckle, sliding the leather sandal from her swollen flesh, causing the young woman to throw her head back and moan in ecstasy.  "Stop over-reacting," he chided.  "It's only a bloody shoe."

"I didn't see you two-stepping all night," she accused grumpily.  "There's no way you can understand my pain."

"Didn't exactly see you do much dancin' either," he shot back, pulling off its mate.  "You seemed too busy with the flirtin' and gettin' drunk and givin' every bloke in the place a hard-on."

"That's my _job, remember?  And I thought we were supposed to be going along with this whole magical, mystical, miraculous, momentous, mystifying…"  Her voice trailed off, her brow furrowing.  "What was I saying?"_

Spike sighed.  "Go to sleep, Slayer.  Maybe you'll wake up back in your own bed in good ol' Sunnyhell."  And I can stop thinking about you every bleedin' second, he added silently.  

She kicked out at him, catching him just under the ribs.  "You're cranky."

"No, I'm tired."

Buffy's foot slid down his abdomen, coming to rest in his lap, and her eyes widened as it felt the bulge just beneath the zipper.  "Is that what you're calling it these days?" she teased, running her arch along its length, using her toes to outline it against his trousers.

Spike grabbed her foot and not very delicately shoved it away.  "Not in the mood for games, Slayer."

She was on top of him before he could react.  "Not even Twister?" she said before biting at his chin, curling her leg around his.  "Buffy hand on Spike…"  Her hand mirrored her words, sliding between their bodies to squeeze his throbbing cock.

He was tempted to take her up on her offer, to just throw caution to the wind and rip the velvet from her skin, plunge himself into the depths of her wetness and ride her senseless right there in the car.  God knew, she was certainly asking for it.  Trouble was, Spike also knew that as soon as she woke up and remembered what had happened, that the chipped vampire had taken advantage of her drunken state while most likely conveniently forgetting that she was the one doing the throwing here, he would end up on the wrong end of a very pointy stick.  And he wasn't ready to check out just yet.  

Setting his jaw, the vampire said coldly, "Never knew the Slayer was a horny drunk.  Is that how college boy got into your pants?  What was his name again?  Porter?  Prentice?  Oh, yeah."  He almost spat out the name.  "_Parker."_

That did the trick.  Buffy froze in his arms, her lips pursing, the flush creeping into her cheeks.  "Asshole," she muttered, sliding away to the other end of the seat, pressing herself into the door.

For some reason, that bothered him, but Spike shrugged it off.  "Yeah, well, at least I'm a still-breathin' asshole, metaphorically speakin', of course."

"Just wait until we get home," she grumbled.  "I'll give you metaphorical."

In the front seat, it was all the chauffeur could do to keep from smiling.  These two were always at it, and the passion with which they tackled their relationship---whether it was fighting or making up---wasn't something he'd seen very often in his forty-five years in this world.  When it came to driving Buffy and Spike around, he was always the first to volunteer; somehow, being in such close proximity to the lovebirds managed to give him an extra spark when he got home to his own wife…

To be continued in Chapter Four:  Cheek to Cheek…


	4. Cheek to Cheek

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.  Oh, and the song lyrics are from "Problems" by the Sex Pistols.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy and Spike have lived through their first night at this "club" they work at, The Rising Sun, and Willow is beginning to suspect that something has happened to the Slayer.

*************

Her ear lobes were vibrating.  As Buffy battled between dreams and waking, the first thing she became aware of was how the pounding in her head was cascading into her ears, setting them into motion.  At least, that's what it felt like.  Another veil of sleep lifted, and the pulsations were joined by a matching set behind her eyes, beating on them from the inside out, a tom tom in the orchestra of her hangover.  Because that's what it was, and the Slayer wasn't so far gone that she didn't know exactly what was going on, why she felt like this.  CaveBuffy hadn't been _that long ago._

She tried to swallow and immediately regretted it.  Somewhere, she had lost the lining of her throat and been left with this sandpaper chute, leading down into the tumult that was her stomach.  Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and she could've sworn that it moved in slow motion, too thick for her to control, too dry to do any good.  What the hell had she been thinking last night?  Hadn't she learned anything by going one hundred million years b.c. last fall?

As her eyelids fluttered open, the memories of the previous evening came flooding back, and she blinked in open embarrassment as she remembered her behaviour, the obvious flirting, the clinginess, the…She froze.  Oh my god, she thought.  I hit on Spike.

She'd certainly not planned it.  All she'd wanted was to get through the night as quickly as possible, and the alcohol had definitely helped with that goal.  She wasn't blind, though; she'd seen how he'd been watching her at the bar, staring at her every time she went out for a dance, his own personal thundercloud hanging over his head every time she let some guy grab her ass.  After awhile, it had turned into a little game; what else could she do to piss him off, push him just that little bit further?  After all, it wasn't as if the chipped vampire could actually hurt her; thank god for those government guys for that, at least.

When he'd pulled her off her stool during that last dance, Buffy'd noticed for the first time since coming out into the club just how much better Spike looked than the other men in the room, and felt her body respond to it in spite of her better intentions.  Feeling his muscled chest pressed against her, the barriers of his jacket and her dress only adding to the sensuality, had been even more intoxicating than the shots, and her excitement had only grown until her actions in the car had become inevitable.  Of course, he'd gone and ruined the whole thing with the Parker snipe, but that was probably of the good; the last thing Buffy needed right now was encouraging Spike to think that she might be softening toward him, let alone attracted to him.

Her heart skipped a beat as she realized what she'd just thought.  I'm not, she argued with herself.  I can't be.   Not to Spike.  He's annoying, and potentially dangerous, and hates me and everyone I care about.  How could I possibly be attracted to that?  

But isn't that what you told Willow? the little voice inside her head whispered.  That the fire in relationships came from the danger?  And you _have been having those dreams about him ever since her little spell…remember?  Buffy grimaced.  Stupid sneaky little voice, she grumped.  Always bringing up everything I just want to forget._

Because she _had been having dreams, not very many, maybe two…OK, three.  But they'd been pretty innocuous, mostly just lots of kissing and handholding, mainly what had happened during that entire night at Giles' apartment.  Certainly not anything to get all steamed up about.  Nope, you're right, the little voice agreed.  That's what the __real Spike is for._

For the first time since waking, Buffy became aware of the sound of running water coming from behind one of the closed doors on the opposite wall.  Propping herself up on her elbows, she had to stifle the giggle as the vampire's voice filtered into the room, singing very loud and very off-key.  

"…Eat your heart out on a plastic tray, you don't do what you want then you'll fade away, you won't find me working nine to five.  It's too much fun a being alive…"

Shaking her head, the Slayer laid back, pulling the pillow up around her ears to shut him out.  Spike had the worst taste in music…

*************

She must've fallen back to sleep, because the next thing she knew, an icy hand was shaking her shoulder, spraying little tiny droplets of water across her cheek.  "C'mon, Slayer," she heard Spike say, his voice sounding more than a little annoyed.  "Haven't got all day to lay about in bed."

Buffy opened her eyes, scowling, to see the blond vampire hovering over her, arms folded across his bare chest, his hair a tumble of still-damp curls.  "Go away," she said, and pulled the blanket over her head, blocking out the sight of him, and his muscles…

The comforter went flying through the air as he ripped it away from her, tossing it onto the floor.  "Hibernatin's not goin' to make the hangover go away, pet," he said.  "Get up and get movin'.  You'll feel better.  Trust me on this one."

"I'm not hung over," the young woman lied.  "I'm tired.  Big difference."

He just stood there, his blue eyes dark as he watched her, before finally shrugging and shaking his head.  "Suit yourself," he said, moving away to grab a shirt hanging on the back of a nearby chair.  "Just thought you'd fancy gettin' outta that dress, considerin' what you did in it last night."

Buffy bolted from the bed, the red velvet only slightly hindering her movement, and whirled around, looking down at herself from every angle.  "What?  What did I do?"  Probably threw up and don't even remember, she worried.  And then I slept in it?  Ewwwww…

Spike's laughter filled the room.  "Nothin'," he said.  "But that little twirly thing is hysterical.  Do it again."

Her hazel eyes were venomous as she glared at him.  "Fine.  You win.  I'm up."  Her gaze strayed to her surroundings, absorbing the delicate colors of cream and lilac, the antique furniture scattered around the perimeter, the enormous windows that took up one entire wall.  The curtains were drawn, and Buffy felt an overwhelming urge to walk over and throw them open, scare the pants off the obnoxious vampire.  Maybe later, she thought, when I can actually feel my toes enough to walk straight.  "So where are we?" she asked.

"Well, told the chauffeur to take us home, so I'm guessin'…this is our place."  His tongue tapped against his top teeth as he waited for her reaction, the amusement still glinting in his blue eyes.

"Obviously, I did the decorating," Buffy commented.  When she saw the slight frown on his face, she added, "The complete void of black is a dead giveaway."

Spike shook his head and turned to point to each of the three doors in the room.  "Closet.  Bathroom.  Rest of the flat."  The gleam returned to his gaze as his lips curled into a smirk.  "Pretty posh digs, if you ask me.  You must be _very good at what you do, 'cause even the best bouncer couldn't afford this place.  And we both know…"  He left it hanging, but both of them knew what his implication was, and no way was she going to rise to the bait._

Ignoring the vampire's gibe, the young woman did her best to stride toward the bathroom, concentrating on not letting the ache in her head cause her to topple over.  "You better have left me some hot water," she said.  "Or you'll be the best pile of dust this side of the Mississippi."

*************

A long hot soak in the tub did wonders for Buffy's hangover, and she emerged from the bathroom with major wrinklage, but feeling much more like her normal self.  There'd been one moment of panic when the Slayer had realized she couldn't reach the zipper on her dress to disrobe, and the thought that she was going to have to call in Spike to undo it for her had sent her into a desperation of intense creative thinking.  In the end, a full-length mirror, a hair pin---at least, she thought it was a hair pin---and really flexible limbs had done the trick for her, allowing her to shed the gown and slide into the bubbly water without the vampire's aid.

As she stood in the entrance of her wardrobe, though, Buffy had to admit he'd been right about one thing; escort or not, she was doing extremely well at her job.  The "closet" wasn't like anything she'd ever seen before; in fact, it could hardly be classified as a closet at all.  Wandering into the wide-open space, the young woman drank in the clothes that lined two of the twelve-foot walls in double rails, a plethora of color dazzling to the eyes, every permutation of attire imaginable hanging there just waiting to be worn.  Men's clothes---Spike's, most likely---adorned a third wall, while the remaining was dedicated to a dressing table and accessories.  Sliding open some of the drawers, the Slayer was shocked into silence by the jewelry she found there---gemstones of every hue, set into necklaces, earrings, bracelets, even a few tiaras.  Whether they were real or not, she had no idea, but the thought of getting the chance to wear some of them was sending ripples of excitement throughout her system.  Buffy was feeling like Charlie inside the chocolate factory.

Half an hour later, she stepped out of the bedroom, hair still damp, and found Spike sitting in the main room of the apartment, feet propped up on a large coffee table as he lounged on an overstuffed settee.  Cigarette smoke hung in the air, and he slowly exhaled as he watched her glance around, taking in the comfortable décor.  The knit dress she'd chosen clung to her hips, the shade of peach bringing out the color in her face, and he felt the familiar stirring in his groin.  For the first time, he was glad of the baggy trousers that were so fashionable for this era; they concealed his growing erection without him having to move and bring further attention to it.

"Took you long enough," he said, leaning forward to stub out his cigarette.         "You try picking something out of that wardrobe," she replied, coming in further and running a wary hand along the edge of the couch, enjoying the plush feel of its fabric under her fingers.

"I did," Spike replied.  "Took two minutes."

"Oh, yeah."  A distracted Buffy began wandering around, just letting it all sink in, flitting from one piece of furniture to another without exploring any.  "This place is amazing."

"I think I already told you that."  He watched as she stopped in front of a closed door not too far from the bedroom.  As she began to reach out for the doorknob, he said, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"The English accent does not make you my Watcher," Buffy replied, and pushed the door open, not seeing Spike shake his head and lean back, an amused smile on his face.  Silly bint will learn one of these days, he thought.  Can't say I didn't warn her.

It was another bedroom, just as large as the other, but so differently decorated that the young woman froze in the doorframe, her hazel eyes widening in shock as they swept over the furnishings.  A huge bed dominated the center, dressed in black satin, with piles of red pillows thrown across the head.  Hanging from the ceiling in the far corner was a swing---at least, she thought it was a swing as it appeared to be made up of just a few dark straps---while the wardrobe next to it was open to reveal an array of costumes, both male and female, that were clearly _not meant for Halloween.  On the opposite wall, a set of manacles hung in repose, eerily not out of place within the context of the room, with a rack of whips, chains, and other oddities she was glad she didn't recognize hanging nearby.  _

Tremulous fingers pulled the door shut again, and Buffy just stood there, not even turning around, as the pounding in her head slid down to include her heart.  "This…is obviously…your room," she said as steadily as she could manage.

Spike laughed.  "Takes two to tango, pet," he said.  "And speaking of tango…"

The young woman turned to see the blond vampire rise to his feet, cross to a large cupboard against the wall, and open it to expose an antiquated record player.  She frowned as the quiet strains of some oldie filled the room, its jazzy undertones creating ripples down her spine.  "What're you doing?" she asked as he turned around to face her.

"Goin' to teach you how to dance proper," the vamp replied, cocking his eyebrow.  "You didn't know what in hell you were doin' last night, did you?"

"I know how to dance," Buffy protested.

"Maybe for Sunnydale circa nineteen ninety-nine, but for this place…"  He shook his head.  "You're outta your depth, Slayer.  And seein' as how we've gotta fit in 'til Rupert susses out how to get us back, you're goin' to need a few lessons.  Unless you want to just keep goin' with the whole barfly routine, 'cause I gotta admit, that did work for you…"

"No!"  She winced as her head protested against her vehemence.  More quietly, she repeated, "No.  You're right.  I can't do that again.  Drunk Buffy is not Happy Buffy."

"Actually, I'd say Hungover Buffy isn't Happy Buffy," Spike argued.

"And you can really teach me what I need to know?" she questioned, the doubt evident in her voice.

The vampire sighed.  "Been there, done that, remember?  Dru was a nutter for dancin'."

"Dru was a nutter period," she muttered.

"I heard that, Slayer."  He sauntered forward, waiting in the middle of the room for her to join him.  When after a minute she still hadn't moved, Spike tilted his head and looked at her with annoyance.  "This works better if you're actually within, say, ten feet of me."  He watched as she hesitated, then with a roll of her eyes, walked up to stand in front of him.  "We're goin' to start with somethin' easy."

*************

It hadn't been what she'd been expecting.  After a few false starts, punctuated with the occasional, "Bloody hell!", Buffy had finally grown comfortable being held so intimately by the blond vampire, his hands roaming over various parts of her body as they moved, his hips occasionally brushing against hers as they executed a twist or turn.  For some reason, the contact never seemed inappropriate.  Instead, the young woman began to discover that she actually quite enjoyed him as a partner, the feline grace he'd exuded when they'd fought coming through naturally in his dancing as well, making the entire learning experience incredibly pleasant.

They'd progressed quickly from the foxtrot to more of the swing moves that Buffy had seen being revived around Sunnydale over the past few years.  Her own natural grace made learning the steps simple, while her Slayer training had conditioned her to catch on to things quickly.  Within an hour, she was moving like a pro, her own feet matching his during the faster numbers, her hips swaying provocatively during the slower.  At one point, the young woman had thought Spike was going to call it a day, pulling away from her at the end of a song and just standing by the player for what seemed an eternity, while her pulse raced, the sweat gleaming on her forehead.  Instead, he'd merely switched records, returning to her side, sweeping her into his arms as the beat of the melody began thrumming through their bodies.

Buffy found herself gasping for breath as the current song ended, bending over at the waist as if she'd just finished running a marathon.  "That's enough," she panted.  "I think I've got it."

Spike clicked his tongue in reproval.  "You know better than that, Slayer," he admonished.  "You don't finish a workout without a final stretch."  Without straightening, she lifted her head, watching him return to the stereo and the stack of records next to it.  A tiny line appeared between her brow as he flicked through the albums, almost as if he was specifically looking for something, then pulled one from its sleeve and slid it under the needle.  His eyes glittered as he came back to her, reaching down to grab her wrist, guiding her firmly into a vertical position.  "Cooldown dance," the vampire murmured as the ballad filled the air, pulling her tight against him.

Both of them were perspiring, their clothes clinging to them in moist anticipation, and Buffy could feel the beads of sweat trickle down between her breasts.  Her heart was racing, but if it was from the exertion or Spike's nearness, she had no idea.  The only thing she did know was that the iron of his hand in the small of her back was making ripples of excitement tremor through her thighs, causing her to stumble slightly.  

The blond vampire caught her against his hip, and this time, there was no mistaking his arousal as his hardness pressed into her pelvis.  For a brief moment, he considered pulling away, then thought, what the hell, and instead lowered his lips to her neck.

Buffy's first instinct was to jerk herself out of his arms---this was Spike, the bane of her Sunnydale existence, after all---but as his mouth slid to the hollow under her ear, sucking at it gently, those instincts disappeared, replaced instead with an aching want in the pit of her stomach.  The moan escaped her throat before she could stop it, and her hand reached around his back to pull his head closer, her breathing quickening even as the music seemed to slow, an allegretto to its adagio…

The shrill ring of the telephone shattered the young woman's trance, and she yanked herself out of the blond vampire's embrace to go skittering across the room to answer it.  His sapphire gaze was thunderous as he watched her pick it up, holding it like a lifeline, his own hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Hello?" she breathed, completely avoiding looking over at Spike.  "…No, no, you're not interrupting anything…"

He didn't even hear the rest of the conversation.  Disgustedly, the vamp marched over to the record player, scratching the needle across the vinyl as he snatched it off the turntable, before tossing it carelessly aside atop the other albums.  Thinking with your cock again, he chastised himself harshly.  Slayer's goin' to stake you in your sleep, you keep pullin' shit like that.  Of course it was nothing to her; she knew he was a non-threat in her pretty little existence, an annoying gnat that kept buzzing around her light.  One of these days, she was goin' to stop saying she was goin' to dust him and just do it, and it wouldn't be anyone's fault but his own.

He heard her return the receiver to the cradle, but didn't look up or even glance at her, concentrating instead on picking out imaginary dirt from under his fingernails.  "That was Lombardi," she said, her voice still slightly unsteady.  "He says the car will be around to pick us up in an hour."

Spike nodded.  "Right," he said, taking a deep unnecessary breath.  "You go take a shower first.  You need more time than I do to get yourself ready."

He heard her hesitate, and wondered why, but refused to give in to the impulse to raise his eyes.  Within a minute, the soft click of the bedroom door told him that she was gone, and his head fell into his hands.  What a fucking mess, he thought…

*************

"You lost it?"  Her strident voice filled the room and the tiny demon shrank back into his seat.  "What do you mean, you lost it?  That's what your species does, right?  You find stuff and bring it back to people who are looking for it.  So you tell me, how can you have _lost my painting?"_

His horns quivered in fear as he kept his eyes down.  "Well, maybe lost isn't the right word," he squeaked, his normally high pitch made even higher by fear.  "More like…dropped…"

"Dropped is not better."  She bent down over him, putting her cold blue eyes within inches of his.  "Tell me what happened."

"It was that storm, and she came out of nowhere, and when I saw it was the Slayer---."

Her hand shot out and grabbed one of his horns, pulling his head sideways against the arm of the chair, bending his furry body into an impossible contortion.  "The Slayer?  Are you telling me that the _Slayer has my painting?"  He cowered as she abruptly let him go, pacing violently around the room.  "I spend I don't know how much to get it back, and now I find out…"  Her voice faded, and the tiny demon was surprised to see a grin slowly spread across her narrow face.  "The Slayer…" she contemplated.  "Wait a minute.  This might actually work for me.  Maybe the Slayer can take care of my problem without me having to get my hands dirty…"  She flashed a bright smile to her messenger.  "OK, you can live.  For now…"_

To be continued in Chapter Five:  Night and Day…


	5. Night and Day

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Having been sucked into a mysterious painting, Buffy and Spike find themselves engaged, living together, and working at a private club called The Rising Sun, with no idea yet on how they're going to get home.

*************

"Buffy!" roared Spike, pounding on the locked door of the dressing room.  "The bloody car's been waitin' for twenty minutes!"

"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying!"

Pacing like a caged animal in front of the closed off room, the vampire wore his fury in shades of black that matched his tuxedo, his blue eyes stormy, the muscles in his jaw twitching.  As soon as he'd gotten dressed, the Slayer had kicked him out, shutting herself away as she went through the wardrobe, refusing to allow him entrance even when the chauffeur had first rung up to announce his arrival.  He'd never known a woman to be so obsessed with her appearance; even the stupid bint Harmony hadn't spent this much time getting ready.  Of course, she had the whole no-reflection issue so that probably cut back on some of her primping time, but still…

He banged his fist against the wood again.  "I'm leavin'!" he threatened and turned, holding the position as he kept his gaze locked on the door, waiting for it to open.

"Five more minutes!"

Swearing under his breath, Spike stomped toward the bedroom's exit, only to pivot on his heel before he got there to return to the closet door.  "If you're not downstairs in three minutes, you can bloody well walk!" he barked.  This time, he made his departure even louder, slamming the doors shut behind him, rattling the windows in their frames.

The apartment hung in silence for a full minute.  From the street, the faint sounds of cars moving up and down the road filtered through the drawn curtains, the first signs of stars beginning to twinkle through the slits.  

A muffled curse came from the dressing room, followed almost immediately by the door being thrown open and Buffy stumbling out, trying to slip shoes onto her feet while walking at the same time.  Half-hopping, half-running, she dashed for the bedroom door, her coat flapping around her dress.  He better appreciate this, she fumed silently.  I spend all this time to look good, and he has the balls to rush me.  

As she stepped into the corridor outside the apartment, an irate Slayer had one last thought before scurrying toward the elevator.  If I don't get at least one compliment on how amazing I look, she bristled, I swear I'm going to stake him.

*************

Spike frowned as the limo eased to a stop along the curb.  On the sidewalk, a waiting Gino was rushing forward to pull open the back door, his dark eyes darting between the pair.  "What's wrong?" the blond vampire asked, climbing out of the car.  

"Mr. Lombardi wants to see you two," the bouncer rushed.  He glanced over his shoulder.  "In the front."  His gaze slid to the young woman as she stepped onto the sidewalk.  "Evenin', Buffy."

The Slayer nodded, smiling.  What had Spike said his name was?  Something Italian… "Hi, Gino."

"You know what it's about?" the vamp asked, not even realizing he was holding the front door of the club open for Buffy.  She looked at him quizzically as she entered, unsure whether the gesture was part of their guise or if it meant something else entirely, but Spike seemed oblivious to his actions.  Mentally, the young woman shrugged.  Stop thinking so much, she thought.  It's nothing.

Gino shook his head.  "You're tooting the wrong ringer," he said to his partner.  "Why would Lombardi say anything to me?"

Buffy hung back, allowing the men to lead the way into the darkened club, her memories of exiting the previous evening still a little fuzzy.  As she hugged her coat tighter around her, her mind jumped from possibility to possibility, trying to assess what could be wrong now, how else she could lose even more control over her situation.  It was frustrating to say the least; between being thought of as Spike's sex kitten and not knowing how to get home---let alone why they were here in the first place---the Slayer's limits were officially being reached.

The club's main room was in darkness, a pitch black that even Spike found difficult to see into.  As he began to turn to Gino to question what in hell was going on, someone---somewhere---switched on the overheads, erupting the dance floor with illumination and unveiling the Sun's employees all standing there with huge smiles plastered across their faces.

"Surprise!"

Instinctively, a startled Buffy jumped into Spike's side, pressing herself into his length, her tiny hand gripping his upper arm.  Together, they watched Lombardi step forward, arms widespread.  

"Didn't think I'd let you two get away without an engagement party, did you?" he boomed, before scooping the pair into a huge bear hug.  They glanced at each other behind his back, her eyes wide, his bemused, then stepped back as he released them.  "Closed the club for the night just for the occasion," the boss continued.  "Tonight, it's just about you two lovebirds."

Spike looked back at the burly bouncer, his eyebrow cocked, but Gino only shrugged.  "I just do what I'm told," he said innocently, unable to contain his own grin.  The vamp sighed and turned to Buffy, who still clung tenaciously to his arm.  "Looks like we've been hijacked, pet," he said.  "Feel like a party?"

"Good thing we dressed for it," she replied, doing her best to maintain the façade with a smile.  Releasing her grip, she inched back, sliding the coat from her shoulders, revealing the gown underneath before turning to hand the outer garment to Gino.

Behind Spike, Lombardi groaned.  "Oh sure, tonight she decides to show some skin," he complained, but the vamp didn't hear him; his only focus was on the iridescent shape of the Slayer before him.  

It was hard to decide what color the dress really was.  Green taffeta formed the foundation, but layers of blue and green tulle over the long skirt caused the hues to shimmer, changing in the light…sometimes royal, others hunter.  The shades intensified the vibrancy in Buffy's eyes, causing them to dance and shine when she looked at him, something the vampire knew had to be a mirage of the gown; there was no way he could've caused such excitement.  Her arms and shoulders were bare, the rhinestoned bodice offering her cleavage to the supplication of anyone looking.  In a word, she was…breathtaking.

Without thinking, Spike reached forward and grabbed the young woman by the waist, his lean fingers digging into her hip as he pulled her close, his blond head dipping so that his lips could brush against hers.  "Worth every minute," he murmured.  "Next time I tell you to hurry it up, you've got my permission to stake me."

Buffy's head was a whirlwind as the vamp lifted his from the kiss, not breaking the contact of his hand on her waist.  All part of the act, right? she questioned.  Had to be, yet…The tenderness of the kiss, the fleeting feather touch…it had seemed remarkably genuine.  And his words…It dawned on the young woman that he'd spoken too softly for anyone else to hear him, his sentiments directed toward her and her alone.  If this was all part of the whole Buffy-and-Spike-in-love show, why wasn't he sharing with the group?

She felt herself being led to one of the tables, heard the girls around her giggling as they passed, their eyes flitting in jealousy from Spike to her, and back to Spike again.  Somewhere on the other side of the room, Lombardi's voice barking orders slipped into her consciousness, followed immediately by the brass of the band striking up the dinner music.  As she sat down, Buffy glanced once more at her blond companion, watched as he laughed and joked with Gino sitting on his other side, and decided then and there that she had definitely stepped into the Twilight Zone.  

*************

"What a load of rubbish," Giles muttered, his thumb punching angrily at the remote control.  As he tossed the device aside, the Watcher rose from his couch, stretched, and pulled off his glasses to rub tiredly at his eyes.  

He'd had a late night the previous evening; when Buffy had failed to check in after her patrol, he'd gone out in search of his young charge, trolling through the cemeteries until well after three o'clock, only deciding not to check in with her at her dorm room when he noticed the large security guards walking through campus.  Middle-aged men would probably be frowned upon as impromptu guests of young college co-eds, he'd reasoned, especially those that carried around weapons in the wee hours of the morning.  So he'd returned to his flat, hoping his Slayer would've left him a message.  As of now, he still had yet to hear from her.

Spike's disappearance was worrisome as well, but Giles found himself not as hugely bothered by the vampire's departure.  Yes, there was the possibility that the chip would malfunction, allowing him to begin feeding again from the populace, but the Watcher didn't really believe that would happen.  Spike was fairly neutered these days, and little threat to anyone.  Besides, if he was still in Sunnydale, Buffy would certainly find him quickly enough…if Buffy ever decided to check in again, that is…

The harsh jangle of the telephone broke him from his reverie, and Giles strode over to answer it, glasses dangling from his fingers.  "Hello?"

"Giles?  Please tell me Buffy's there."  There was no greeting from Willow, just a direct launch into her worry.

The older man replaced his spectacles, pushing them up his nose as he frowned.  "No, she's not," he replied.  "Why are you asking?"

"She didn't come home last night," the witch rushed.  "Her bed hasn't been slept in, and nobody's seen hide nor hair of her since yesterday.  Plus, she missed one-on-one Riley time as well as all her classes.  I think something might've happened to her."

"Well, she was here yesterday morning.  She left the painting that she'd called about."

"And you haven't seen her since?"

"No.  I didn't see her then, actually.  She stopped by while I was out."

"So, can you ask Spike if he noticed anything weird?" Willow continued.  "Maybe she said something about where she was going, or maybe she was acting funny, or something.  Anything."

"Believe it or not," Giles said, "Spike's not here, either.  He's managed to escape again.  I haven't seen him since before I left yesterday."

There was a long pause.  "Maybe Buffy went looking for him," the young redhead finally said, some of the edge fading from her voice.  "She showed up at your place, saw Spike was gone, and went to go bring him back."

The obviousness of it all flooded Giles with relief.  "Of course," he said.  "That's most likely what's happened.  I'm not sure why I didn't think of that already."

"If she stops by there before coming back to the dorm, can you have her call me?" Willow asked.  "Just to stop the worry monster, you know."

"As long as you promise to do the same."

"Done."

Replacing the receiver in its cradle, Giles glanced back at the painting leaning up against the wall, hesitating a moment before gingerly picking it up.  His head tilted as he peered down at the dancing figures, flicking over the lithe forms.  Certainly looks innocuous, he thought, and set it down on the desk, turning to his book shelves as his brain began to set into motion.  Perhaps a little research before Buffy comes back, figure out what this picture is actually for…

*************

She was only a little intoxicated, the champagne tickling the inside of her head with fizzy bubbles, making her feel slightly euphoric as the evening progressed.  The food had been glorious, and Buffy had quickly remembered that she hadn't eaten all day, stuffing her face with each concoction as it was brought to the table.  Spike seemed amused by her appetite, but didn't say anything, choosing instead to pick at some of the delicacies himself, savoring them with her.  At one point, the blond vamp had dropped one into his lap and before she'd even realized what she was doing, Buffy had dipped her hand down, plucked it from the creases of his trousers, and popped it into her mouth.

Raising his scarred eyebrow, Spike had run his tongue over his teeth before leaning over to whisper in her ear, "Lucky canapé…"  

The burning in her cheeks had caused him to chuckle, and the young woman had deliberately avoided looking at him for the duration of the meal, concentrating instead on speaking to the young girl on her other side.  That deliberate focus had been difficult, though; during the after-dinner drinks, Spike's arm settled around the back of her chair, its weight pressing into her shoulders, bringing his nearness sharply back to her attention.

As the dinner plates were cleared away, the blond vampire pushed his chair back and rose, grabbing Buffy's hand at the same time.  "C'mon," he said, pulling her to her feet.  

She followed him around the edge of the room, her featherweight skirts floating around her legs, hazel eyes darting around to the multitude of faces that swam before her.  God, I hope we get out of this soon, she thought desperately.  This is all beginning to feel just a little bit too…real.

Spike stopped in front of the orchestra, taking the singer's microphone while at the same time motioning for the musicians to stop playing.  He turned to face the waiting group.  "On behalf of Buffy and myself," he said.  "I'd just like to say thank you to Mr. Lombardi for such a nice surprise party---."

"And for the night off," Buffy added with a smile, relaxing as she finally realized what he was doing. 

Light laughter rippled through the room, and the vamp glanced down at her, his lips slowly curling into a smile.  "That, too," he agreed.

"Speech!" cried someone from a far table.  

"What're you talkin' about?" Spike joked.  "That was the speech."

"Tell us about when you first met Buffy!" someone else called out.

That stopped him, sent his blue eyes back to the Slayer's face.  "When I first met Buffy…" he mused.  "Yeah.  I can do that."  His head tilted, but he didn't turn back to his audience, instead remaining focussed on the young woman before him.  "'Course, she was dancin'.  Didn't like the look of the bloke she was with, thought she could've done better and didn't know why she was wastin' her time with him."  He paused, lost in the memory.  "She didn't know I was there, that I was watchin' her.  Probably just as well, 'cause if she _had sussed it out, I probably wouldn't be standin' here today."  The crowd tittered.  "There was something…I couldn't keep my eyes off her.  She…glowed.  I'd never seen anyone…move like that before…the power…the grace.  And I just knew it was goin' to be a tasty little battle we'd have…"  His voice trailed off, and a transfixed Buffy realized he was recounting that night so long ago at the Bronze, the night he'd announced he was going to kill her.  Funny how things changed…_

 "What about when you fell in love with her?"  This was from Gino, his face flushed from drink.

Spike laughed, finally breaking the spell that hung between him and the Slayer as he looked over at his work buddy.  "Sorry 'bout that, mate," he said.  "That's the exact same story…"

An "awwww" spread throughout the room and the blond vamp quickly leaned over to the conductor, whispering something before turning back to the microphone.  "That's enough talkin'," he said as the music started to swell behind him.  "Time for dancin'."  He held his hand out to Buffy, grinning.  "Feel like showin' off what you learned today, Slayer?" he said in a low voice.

She didn't answer, only took his outstretched offer, following him out onto the dance floor before slipping inside the circle of his arms.  Her heart was pumping a mile a minute, her head a cascade of unanswered questions and theories.  Either Spike was better at this whole act thing than she'd originally thought, or…

But she didn't want to contemplate the or; the or made her dizzy, more so than any amount of alcohol might, and Buffy wasn't sure she was ready for that.  That way led madness, or at the very least, a whopper of a headache.  Better to just not think about it…as if by saying so, her mind would actually listen to her and do it.

The song ended too quickly, but before they could break apart, the band launched into another number, slower this time, more languorous.  Spike pulled the young woman against him, cupping her hand in his, and together they swayed across the floor, an execution of elegance as their bodies matched each other, attuned to its partner's, anticipating before opportunities even approached.  

Buffy didn't dare look up at the vampire, instead keeping her eyes on other things in the room…the other couples…waiters…the orchestra.  When the spectacled trumpet player stood for his solo, it gave her the perfect thing to focus on, and she watched as he blasted his instrument, a pealing cry within the confines of the love song.  The musicians had long since shed their jackets, loosening their ties in the casualness of the evening, and the young woman found herself frowning as she and Spike spun closer to the soloist.  There…on his neck…just a glimpse…and as she turned again, this time just a few feet nearer, she knew…

Buffy Summers had been a Slayer long enough to recognize the scar of a vampire's bite when she saw one…

To be continued in Chapter 6:  Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy…


	6. Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  The Scoobies think that Buffy is out looking for Spike, while Buffy has spotted the scar of a vampire bite on a trumpet player at the Rising Sun.

*************

If she had to smile for just one more minute, Buffy swore her face was going to fall off.  Not that she wasn't enjoying herself; on the contrary, considering this whole engagement party was just one big sham of a do, the young woman hadn't had this much fun in ages.  Nonstop dancing, good food, and even…did she really dare to say it…good company.

Out of the corner of her eye, the Slayer glanced over at the bar, heard Spike's laughter even from her position near the door.  Until Gino had pulled him aside, the blond vampire hadn't left her side all night, refusing to let anyone else dance with her, calling it his "right as her bleedin' fiancé."  Even Lombardi had been brushed aside, and Buffy had watched as the man had stepped back, the annoyance clear in his eyes but the fear of Spike greater.  

"Maybe you should let me dance with him," she'd said.  "He's our boss, after all.  We can't go messing things up here before we figure out what's going on."

She could've sworn she'd heard him growl, and looked up to see his gaze locked on her face, blue eyes darkened to almost black.  "No man in his right mind would share you, especially tonight of all nights," he'd said, then smiled.  "And we're supposed to be head over heels, remember?  Mustn't let the locals think you can't stand dancin' with me."  He'd seemed to be waiting for her to say something, anything, but she'd only looked away, the sudden rush of heat in her cheeks visible testimony to the bewildering amalgam of emotions that were bouncing around in her head.   

They'd danced in silence for a moment, until Buffy felt him lean forward, his cheek just barely touching hers as his mouth hovered by her ear.  "Thought of another one, Slayer," he'd murmured.  "There once was a fella named Fritz…"

And she'd laughed…at his dirty limericks, at his frighteningly accurate impersonation of Giles, at his dry commentary about the other girls in the club.  For a while there, she'd actually forgotten where she was or who she was with, so lost in her own personal whirlwind that all that…extraneous stuff just slipped away.  And here it was, almost three o'clock in the morning, and she was shocked to find herself wishing that the night didn't have to end.

"…gone ahead and taken all the gifts out to the car," the man in front of her was saying.

Buffy's head whirled around, her eyes wide.  "Gifts?" she asked.  "There's gifts?"

"Well, yeah.  But Lola thought you'd rather open them up at home.  More private there and all."  His face spread into a leer.  "Plus it's easier if you get something you want to…_use right away."_

She laughed nervously, inching her way backwards, and was relieved when the band started playing again.  "I thought they were done for the night," she said, grateful for the diversion.

"Last dance," he explained, and Buffy stiffened as she saw him hold out his hand, getting ready to ask her out onto the floor.

"Well, then I better get Spike," she chirped.  "He always gets my last dance, you know."  With a bright smile, she turned, only to find the blond vampire standing directly behind her, his head cocked, a note of questioning in his eyes.  The hair that had been so immaculate when they'd left the apartment now was a tumble of curls, raked through by his lean fingers all night, and Buffy irrationally wondered why he played so much with it when it wasn't moussed or gelled into place.  Not that she was complaining; for some reason, the tousling made him seem more…human.

Mentally shaking herself, she said in a voice just a little too loud, "Just the person I was looking for."  She looped her arm through his, pulling him out onto the dance floor, tossing back an almost apologetic smile to the other man.  

The pair slid into each other's arms, an instinctive mating that melded them together, and the young woman was grateful that the conductor had chosen a slow song to end the evening with.  She was convinced Spike could feel how hard her heart was beating; shoot, he could probably see it, but then that would mean he was looking at her breasts…Stealing a glance upwards to check, Buffy was met by his steady gaze, and she ducked her head back down, turning her cheek to rest it on his chest.  "There's presents," she said, desperate for any topic of conversation that didn't involve Spike or body parts.  "For us.  To unwrap back at the apartment."  She was floundering, and she knew it.

"Knowin' this group, that should be…interestin'…" he drawled.  She heard his teeth click together, wondered what exactly he was doing, when he added, "Hope it hasn't been too tough for you tonight."

That made her look up.  "Why would you say that?" she said.  "Tonight's actually been fun."

"Just thought…it's just a little too much like Red's spell…having to…pretend…and such…"  He wasn't looking at her, concentrating instead on something over her shoulder.  

"It hasn't been that bad."  The admission was quiet, unexpected, and Buffy saw the muscle twitch in the vampire's cheek.  She smiled, trying to lighten his mood.  "Besides, don't tell me you're not eating all this up.  Spike the bouncer is god here, and I just _know how much you hate that."_

He chuckled, his arm tightening around her almost imperceptibly.  "Yeah, gotta admit, it does feel good to get a little respect again.  Nothin' like being chained in a bathtub to give a vamp a sense of his true self-worth."

The mention of vampires brought the memory of what she'd seen earlier back to the forefront.  In the flurry of the party, the young woman hadn't really had the opportunity to bring it up, and had tucked the observation away for future discussion.  Now, though…Her hazel gaze slipped to the band, alighting on the same spectacled trumpet player.  If there were vampires in this place, she needed to about it.  After all, she wasn't the Slayer for nothing.

The song finished, and Spike and Buffy stayed on the floor, applauding the orchestra as they filed into the back room.  "C'mon," the young woman said, grabbing Spike's arm and pulling him along behind her as she made to follow the musicians.

The platinum vamp broke free, stopping in the middle of the room.  "Ummm…the car's goin'to be out front, Buffy."

Stopping and turning to look at him, the young woman's hazel gaze was steady.  "Trust me on this one, Spike," she said evenly.

He hesitated a moment, then shrugged, stuffing his hands into his trousers pockets.  "Lead the way."

*************

He was easy to find, but Buffy hung back, waiting for some of the other musicians to leave before approaching him.  "That was a great solo," she said brightly, a warm smile on her face as he turned to look at her.

"Thanks."  Up close, the young woman realized that he really wasn't that much older than her, mid-twenties maybe, while the glasses gave him the appearance of someone more accustomed to libraries than nightclubs.  Almost a mini-Giles, she thought.

"Listen," she rushed on.  "I couldn't help but notice your scar…"  Her fingers fluttered around her neck.  

Behind Buffy, Spike's eyes narrowed as he tried unsuccessfully to see what the Slayer was referring to.  Instead, he witnessed the young trumpet player turn beet red, immediately shifting his eyes, pulling his shirt and collar tighter around him.

"Oh, that.  It's nothing.  My dog---."

"---bit you," the young woman finished, nodding.  "Yeah, I've used the puppy excuse before myself.  Although I never really realized how lame it sounded until just now."  She took a step closer, tilting her head slightly to expose the curve of her neck even further.  "I kinda get where you're coming from."

The color slowly faded from the young man's face, as his eyes darted from her scar, to her face, back to her scar again.  "That's not…you can't…"

"I can't do anything about the one that did that to you," Buffy continued.  "But I can do something about any of them hurting other people.  Just tell me where you were attacked.  I'll take care of the rest."

His laugh was more of a snort, and he ducked his head.  "You don't have to worry about that," he said.  "It wasn't even in this pl…"  His voice trailed off, not finishing the word, unable to meet her eyes.

She knew how his sentence was going to end, and the realization flared hope in the Slayer's stomach.  Before she could speak, however, the sound of Spike's voice came up behind her.

"Well, well, well," he taunted.  "Looks like we're not the only ones to go tumblin' down the rabbit hole."

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy ordered, then turned back to the musician.  "Maybe we should go somewhere we can talk.  You know, about music…and vampires…maybe, fine art?  I have a thing about paintings, myself."

Behind his glasses, his brown eyes searched hers before replying, "I'm Tony, by the way."

"Buffy, and this is---."

"Spike."  Tony grinned.  "Yeah, I got it."

*************

"So how long have you been here?" the young woman asked, her feet dangling as she sat on the dressing room table.

"About two weeks," Tony replied.  "Two very long and very weird weeks."

"Hey, at least you're not a professional escort," Buffy teased.

"You got me there."  They laughed, sharing the discomfort of the situation, and Spike's frown deepened, his mood darkening.

"So is the painting yours?  Did that demon steal it from you or something?"

"No, I just thought it looked cool.  That's why I touched it in the first place."  The musician frowned.  "What demon are you talking about?"

Buffy shrugged.  "I got it when this little teddy demon dropped it.  No big."

"Sounds big to me," Tony commented.  "How do you come to know so much about these kind of things?  The vampires, and you've got that bite…"

"It's kinda…my job."

His laugh was almost a bark.  "That's L.A. for you.  My folks would never believe me in a million years if I told them about some of the stuff I've seen."

"L.A.?"  Buffy's smile faded, to be replaced by a small frown.  "Is that where you're from?"

"Well, yeah.  Aren't you?"

"Sunnydale."  She looked over at Spike.  "How'd the painting get from L.A. to the Hellmouth?"

"Obviously, your little Ewok buddy stole it," the vamp replied, his words short and curt.  "Question is, how do _we get back to the Hellmouth?"_

Buffy swung around to look at Tony expectantly, but the musician only shook his head.  "Can't help you there," he said.  "If I knew, I'd've done it myself two weeks ago."

"So we're back to waitin' for Rupert," Spike said, standing and stretching.  "Can we go now?  I'm knackered.  Not that sittin' around chewin' the fat with bugle boy isn't a barrel of monkeys, but it's goin' to be dawn soon, and I'd much prefer not to have to see it through a cloud of dust, if you get my meanin'."

"Oh, yeah, right."  Hopping from her perch, the young woman looked up at their new confidante.  "How can we get a hold of you?  In case we figure out how to get back home."

"I've actually got a place across the street," Tony said.  "No phone, though."  He smiled.  "Us musicians don't do as well as you escorts."

Buffy laughed and immediately found her elbow being tightly gripped by Spike's strong hand.  "Right then," he said.  "Nice meetin' you, see you tomorrow."

"It could be worse," Tony said to their backs as they headed for the door.  "At least you're not alone.  My girlfriend's still on the other side."

A stunned Slayer stopped and turned to stare with wide hazel eyes at the trumpet player.  "What're you implying?" she demanded.

"Well, you two.  I mean, you're…"  He blushed.  "Together…right?"

"Spike is not my boyfriend!"

"But, I've been watching you…and…he's all…and you…"  Putting his hand over his eyes, Tony just shook his head.  "Forget I said anything.  I'm sorry.  I just assumed---."

"You assumed wrong," Buffy said, stressing the last word.  "We're just trying to keep things kosher with everyone here at the club so they won't suspect anything."

Behind the young woman, Spike stiffened, his jaw locking.  When the young musician removed his fingers from his face and looked up, his gaze met that of the vampire's, and he swallowed hard at the other man's almost imperceptible shake of his blond head.  "Of c-c-course," Tony stuttered.  "Just an act.  Plus, they think you're single, they'll make you go back to your…escorting.  Makes sense you'd want them to think…"

"It's OK," the Slayer said, relaxing.  "Just means we're getting away with it.  Besides, Spike's so convincing, sometimes even I forget." She laughed, but stopped almost immediately when she realized she was the only one doing so.

There was an awkward silence as the three just looked at each other, broken only when Buffy turned to open the door.  "It was still a great solo," she tossed back as she exited the dressing room.

"Thanks…"  Tony's voice trailed away as he watched the pair leave, crossing to shut the door behind them as soon as their forms disappeared around the corner.  With a heavy sigh, he leaned forward, closing his eyes as his brow rested on the dark wood.  Shit, he thought.  The painting's back in Sunnydale…

*************

Giles was kneeling on the floor in front of his bookcase when the sharp rap at his door echoed through the quiet apartment.  "Come in!" he called.

"I come bearing fresh pastries and sugary delights," proclaimed Xander, as he pushed the door open with his hip, boxes of donuts balanced in his arms.  "Everything a growing boy needs to maintain that research edge."

"Put them in the kitchen, please," the Watcher instructed, not even looking up from the text in his hands.  "I still haven't managed to remove that jelly stain in the carpet from the last time you were here."

As the young man loped into the other room, Anya hung back near the doorway.  "So what's on the agenda today?" she asked brightly.  "Prophecy?  Mass murders?  Baby-eating trolls?"

"Art," Giles replied and stood, pulling his glasses off to rub at his eyes.  "Before she disappeared, Buffy dropped off a painting she found in the cemetery."

"So you still haven't heard from her, huh?" asked Xander from the kitchen.

The Watcher shook his head.  "Although Willow proposed that perhaps she's out looking for Spike.  Their disappearances seem to have coincided too closely not to have some common linkage."

Distractedly, Anya wandered further into the apartment, only half paying attention to the conversation between the two men.  As her fingers ran along the edge of the desk, her gaze was captured by the picture that still sat there, and all movement in her body promptly stopped, with the exception of her eyes which only seemed to grow larger and larger.  "Where did you get this?" she asked, her voice barely a squeak.

Giles stepped to her side, looking down at the artwork.  "That's the painting I was referring to," he said, his hand reaching out to pick it up.

"Don't touch it!"  The ex-demon's arm shot out, grabbing the Watcher's wrist, stopping him from completing the movement.  "Are you crazy?"

"What is it, Ahn?" queried Xander as he came out from the other room.  "Do you know something about this that maybe you should clue us in on?"

The young woman laughed, rolling her eyes.  "You can't find Buffy, you can't find Spike, and you've got a H'roven sitting in plain view on the desk.  Oh, I know something, all right.  I know you can say sayonara to your Slayer…"

To be continued in Chapter 7: A Sinner Kissed an Angel…


	7. A Sinner Kissed An Angel

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy and Spike have discovered that Tony, one of the musicians from the Rising Sun, is actually from their world, while it seems that Anya recognizes the painting.

*************

They stood before the young woman, arms folded across their respective chests, gazing down at her as they waited for her to speak.  Scrunching herself down into the cushions on the couch, Anya looked up at them through her lashes, feeling very much like a scolded schoolchild waiting to be punished, and squirmed, disliking the feeling intensely.  "I have no idea how you guys ever managed without me," she muttered.  

"Please, Anya, focus," Giles urged.

"Yeah," agreed Xander.  "You said it's a H'whatsit?"

"A H'roven.  And that's the name of the artist, not the name of the picture."

"And you know this because…?"

Anya sighed.  "Because I recognize his style.  It's very distinctive.  Plus, it's got his signature on it."  She watched as Giles crossed to the desk to examine the painting further.  "In the lower left corner, there's what looks like a red splodgy thingamajig, kind of star-shaped.  That's his mark."  

Pulling off his glasses, the Watcher leaned over to peer at the artwork, and almost without thinking, his outstretched finger raised as it sought to trace the raised oil.

"Don't!" the young woman cried out, jumping to her feet.  "What did I tell you?  You can't touch the painting."

"Oh, yes, of course."  Giles straightened.  "Because that's what activates the magic."

Anya rolled her eyes.  "Are you guys even listening to me?  It's not magic, it's a portal.  Touching it opens it up, then sucks you through."

"So where's Buffy?" queried Xander from behind her.  

"Technically?  In another dimension.  To us, it looks like she's in the picture."  She came around the corner of the desk, edging around the older man to gaze down at the painting, her eyes scanning the rich oil for a moment before pointing, making sure that her finger stayed plenty of distance away from its actual surface.  "There, in the blue dress.  Near the orchestra."

Giles squinted.  "How can you be so sure?  That could be anyone."

"Because she's dancing with Spike."

"She's what?!?"  Almost leaping over the desk, Xander pushed his way to the front to stare down at the picture.  "She's not!  She can't be.  I mean, she's…"  Very slowly, he looked up, his brown eyes wide and haunted, his jaw lax.  "…dancing with Spike," he intoned.

Anya shrugged.  "Obviously, he touched it, too."  She smiled widely.  "Good news is, Giles gets his shower back."

"Are you absolutely certain they can't come back?" the Watcher asked.

"H'roven would be out of business real fast if that was possible," the young woman said.  "Demons buy his work to get rid of their enemies.  If the portal operated on a two-way system, that would kind of defeat the purpose."

"So can't we just get another painting to this dimension and bring the Buffster back through it?" asked Xander.  "Spike can stay there, of course."

"There won't be another one.  Each picture is a one-off.  You have to specially commission H'roven to do one for you.  He's very expensive."

She watched as Giles began pacing around the room, the earpiece of his glasses between his teeth, heavy lines between his brows.  "There must be a way," he muttered.  "Perhaps if we destroyed the picture, it would neutralize the forces that sucked Buffy through."

Anya threw her hands up in exasperation.  "How many times do I have to say this?" she moaned.  "It's.  Not.  A.  Spell.  You get rid of the picture, you get rid of the portal, and you get rid of any chance you might have to get her back."

"So you're saying there _is a chance?"_

"Well, there's always a chance, but I don't know what it is.  H'roven might…"  She stopped as she felt both men turn their eyes to her.  "Oh, no," she protested.  "The Anya information booth is officially closed.  There will be no tour service today."  As she attempted to sweep past her boyfriend to head for the door, Xander grabbed her arm, forcing her to turn and face them.  "I mean it," she argued, wrenching herself from his grasp.  "I'm not helping with this one anymore.  You can't make me."

"What's got you so spooked?" the young man asked.  "Is this H'roven guy that bad?"

"In a word, yes.  And he hates me.  And he hates mortals.  And I'm mortal now, which means he doubly hates me.  I refuse to go anywhere near him."

"But if there's even the slightest chance we can retrieve Buffy," Giles said, treading softly as he spoke, "we owe it to her to do everything in our power to do so."

"Please, Ahn.  If you won't do it for Buffy…do it for me."

A long moment passed as the ex-vengeance demon just looked at the two men, her face resolute.  "You have no idea what you're asking," she finally said.  "It'll be bad.  And you…"  She squared off with Xander.  "…You are going to owe me in such a huge way.  Starting with large quantities of multiple orgasms."

"Wonderful," the Watcher interjected, hurrying forward to cut off this particular thread of the conversation.  "So let's go see this H'roven fellow."

Anya stared at him in amazement.  "And how exactly do you expect to do that right now?" she demanded.  "I'm not a demon anymore; I can't just teleport us to wherever we need to go.  There's procedures to follow, steps that have to be taken.  You're looking at tomorrow at the very earliest.  And that's only if I can actually find my Amulet of Trana.  Understand?"  She didn't bother waiting for an answer, instead marching straight for the door.  "C'mon, Xander.  I'll need a break in about an hour.  You can start repaying me then."

*************

The silence hung between them like a drawn curtain, cloaking each of the pair in his and her thoughts, shielding them from the war of emotions battling it out in their heads.  Neither would look at the other; Buffy's eyes were closed as she leaned her head against the window, while Spike stared out into the passing night, his fingers playing distractedly with his pack of cigarettes, his face immobile.  In the front seat, even the chauffeur noticed the difference from the previous evening, and spent the entire trip to their apartment wondering what had happened at the party.

She was tired, but that didn't stop her brain from working, surging into overdrive as she tried to assimilate everything from the past few hours.  Tony seemed not to be too bothered about being here, blending in so well that she would never have picked him out if it wasn't for his scar.  And the fact that he'd been here for two weeks didn't bode well for Spike and Buffy's immediate return, either.  How much longer would they have to keep up this pretence? she wondered.  It had only been a day and a half, and already she was starting to forget about what life had been like in Sunnydale.  That couldn't be good.

It's all this painting's fault, she grumped.  Everything about it is too realistic; it must be doing some magical thing to my head, making me think things that I shouldn't.  Kinda like Willow's spell.  Liar, the little voice whispered.  It's nothing like that.  Buffy hesitated, then acquiesced to the voice's insistence, allowing it permission to voice its opinions.  

There had been no doubt, remember?  Just a mindless euphoria, that certainty of your feelings, that Spike was The One.  And what have you now? it asked.  Questions, questions, and more questions.  Ambiguous actions from a certain chipped vampire.  A body whose responses you refuse to acknowledge.  This is as different from Willow's "will it so" spell as night is to day.

But it's all an act, Buffy argued.  Spike said so himself when we were dancing.  We're just pretending, right?

And who did he say was doing the pretending? the voice quizzed.

Her mind searched for a response, trying to remember exactly how the blond vampire had phrased it, but came up with a blank, the sense that maybe she'd misinterpreted his words veiling down her spine.  It had certainly seemed easy for him, slipping so effortlessly into the role of the doting fiancé, possessive of her time, attentive to her needs; was it even possible that all that sprang from something…real?

And you…?  The little voice was whispering faster now, bombarding her with questions too quickly for her to oppose.  Why react so strongly to a mere suggestion that something might be going on between you?  Perhaps it's a case of hello-pot-you're-black-too.  Why don't you listen to your body for a change?  You do when you fight; why not when you…

And that's where she stopped it, cutting the voice off before it could say the word.  OK, so maybe she was attracted to Spike; it's not like she was blind and couldn't see how hot he was.  And he'd certainly been laying on the charm since they'd come through…the joking…the dancing…the camaraderie they'd shared knowing they were in this particular boat together…how could she not be reacting to it?

She felt the car ease to a stop, and opened her lids for the first time since sliding into its back seat.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spike slip his cigarettes into his coat pocket, long fingers gleaming in the moonlight.  Before she could say anything, he disappeared, opening his door and hopping out into the street.  Buffy sighed.  He'd been acting strangely ever since she'd confronted Tony, and she wasn't sure she liked it.  In fact, truth be told, she was actually kind of missing the Spike from the party…

The handle moved under her fingers, and she raised surprised hazel eyes up to see the blond vampire holding open her door, his left hand proffered in aid of her alighting.  His face was inscrutable, his blue gaze black in the streetlamps' dim illumination, and the Slayer found herself holding her breath as she slid from the seat.  Once on the pavement, she froze, allowing her hand to remain in his, waiting for him to be the first to break the contact.

"Go on upstairs," Spike said, his voice low, his touch gliding down her arm to cup her elbow.  "We'll bring up the gifts."  With a gentle nudge, he guided her toward the front door.

She desperately wanted to look back, to give him one last glance before entering the building, but Buffy bit back the instinct, concentrating instead on steadying the pulse that had decided to all of a sudden pound out of control, placing one foot in front of the other without giving anything away.  Wordlessly, she disappeared inside the foyer.

*************

Spike watched as the Slayer walked away from him, her blonde head low, feeling her heartbeat echo through his skin.  He'd thought he had it all figured out; the car ride had certainly given him more than enough time to consider everything, replay it all again in his head.  He'd been convinced that she was just using him to get out of this place, taking advantage of every tool at her disposal---he was just a vampire, after all, something for a Slayer to play with, right before she disposed of it---but now, he was back to not knowing again, her reactions to him puzzling, giving him a bigger headache than the bleedin' chip ever did.

"She's probably just tired," the chauffeur offered beside him, before slipping around to the trunk of the car and opening it.  "Everything'll be cherry once you both get a good night's sleep."

Spike stood back, taking the bags as they were passed to him, his gaze stealing to the upper windows of the apartment building.  "You married?" he asked the other man.

"Yep.  Over twenty years now."

"Ever wonder what in hell you've gotten yourself into?"

"Every single day."

The two men shared a smile, and the blond vampire found himself relaxing for the first time since leaving the club.  "I just don't get what's goin' through her head sometimes," he found himself saying.  "She acts one way, she says somethin' completely different, and all the time I'm thinkin', this would be a doddle if everything else would just disappear."

"You're not saying anything men haven't been saying about dames since time began," the chauffeur replied, easing the trunk closed without dropping any of the parcels in his arms.  "But I don't think you need to be worrying about Miss Summers.  You two are in it for the long haul."

Spike snorted.  "I think Buffy would have a few choice words to say about that."

"Probably," the older man agreed, a vision of her animated face during one of the many fights he'd witnessed flashing across his mind's eye.  "But doesn't make it any less true."

*************

She heard the door of the apartment open, followed by the low murmur of the men's voices as they brought in the presents.  The sound of Spike's laughter warmed her stomach, and she almost winced as the thrum returned to her heartrate.  What had the little voice said about listening to her body…?

When the front door clicked shut, Buffy turned the knob of her bedroom and slipped out into the main room, hanging back as she watched him start emptying the bags onto the coffee table, his jacket-free back to her, the muscles evident even under his shirt.  "You know what I just realized?" she said.  "Not only haven't I killed anything since we got here, but you haven't had any blood either.  I think tomorrow I'll go out and look for a butcher for you.  Can't have you wasting away to nothing before we get back to Sunnydale.  Giles will give me hell for being mean to helpless vampires."  The last was meant to be a joke, but the smile faded from her lips as Spike glanced back at her over his shoulder, blue eyes enigmatic.

"You don't have to do that," he said.  "I can last a few more days before I need to feed again."

She took a few tentative steps closer.  "We have to be prepared for the possibility that we might be here longer than we thought," Buffy said.  "If Tony's been here two weeks already…"  She let the sentence trail away, allowing the vampire to finish it for her.

"Thanks."  He straightened, turning to drink in her thin form.  Although her hair was still up, Buffy had already slipped out of the ball gown and into a long satin robe, belt cinched tightly around her waist, the pale pink accenting the slight blush in her cheeks.  Seeing her like this---so fresh, so very much there---just drummed home the realization that had finally occurred to him in the stairwell.  Somewhere, somehow…all of this had stopped being a game to him…and had become all too much real…

"Right.  I'll just be callin' it a night then."  Shoving his hands into his pockets, Spike was halfway across the lounge, heading toward the second bedroom, when her voice stopped him.

"Where are you going?"

The blond vampire frowned as he glanced back at her.  "You're not really expectin' me to sleep in the bloody bathroom, are you?"

"No!"  Buffy flushed in embarrassment.  "Never mind.  I guess…I just wasn't thinking."  She bit her lip as he began to turn away, before blurting, "Tonight was fun, don't you think?"

This time he turned completely around, crossing his arms over his chest.  "What is it you're tryin' so awkwardly to say, Slayer?"

What _was she trying to say?  She couldn't answer that, standing there like a fish gasping for air as her mouth opened and closed, then opened again.  Her hands worried the belt of her robe, rolling it around her index finger, unwinding it again, all the while feeling as if her heart was going to jump from her chest, it was beating so hard.  _

Very slowly, Spike's arms lowered, and he cocked his head as he took several languorous steps toward Buffy, closing the distance between them with excruciating grace.  "Tonight was fun," he agreed, his voice a rumble over the young woman's skin.  "But I can think of something that could make it even better."

"What?" she breathed, eyes riveted to his approaching form, the excitement dripping down her thighs.

He stopped before her, inches away, and although their bodies didn't touch, Buffy could've sworn she felt his hands sliding over her flesh, covering her in ice that burned, overwhelming her senses as her lips parted, hazel eyes fixed on that full bottom lip as his head slowly lowered.

It was a slow duet, an aching tangle of tongues as each explored the other, savoring the experience as if it was their first time.  No other parts of their bodies met but neither noticed, so lost in the tactile crush of their kiss that the rest of the world seemed to melt away, enveloping them in a midnight void that sucked at their very cores.  He swallowed her breath, consuming her heat, and Buffy felt the burn in her pelvis, craving more, but desperate not to break the contact.

When she heard the groan, the young woman thought at first it had come from her own throat, then realized that it had actually rumbled from Spike's.  Knowing she was the cause, that he was hungering for her just as powerfully as she was for him, quickened her pulse, raising gooseflesh along her arms until she thought it was impossible not to be holding him.  

As her body leaned in closer, the blond vampire eased his lips back, ending the kiss but hovering just millimetres from her mouth.  His blue eyes flickered open.  "Go to sleep, Slayer," he murmured.  "We'll…talk in the morning."

"You expect me to sleep?" Buffy gasped.  "How is that possible now?"

He chuckled.  "Don't expect I'll get much rest either."  He straightened, his cold lips brushing against her forehead, and his hands came up to settle on her shoulders, gently pushing her away and toward her room.  "But I'm not goin' to just hand you your excuse on a silver platter," he said.  He didn't wait for her to move; instead, Spike backed up the few feet to his own room, his unwavering gaze never leaving her face.  "Don't let the bedbugs bite," he murmured, before disappearing into the darkened space behind him…

To be continued in Chapter 8:  This Changing World…


	8. This Changing World

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy and Spike are slowly discovering that they have real feelings for the other, while Anya has reluctantly agreed to take Xander and Giles to see H'roven about the painting.

*************

It was only a dream.     How did he know?  Well, for starters, he certainly hadn't done any sittin' around in the bleedin' sun for a while---OK, there had been that bit last autumn with the Gem, but before that it had been over a century---but the kicker of it was standing there in the daylight, staring him in the face, a cigarette dangling from his fanged mouth.

Spike was talking to himself.

"What in the fuckin' name of all that is evil and unholy do you think you're doin'?" the vamped Spike sniped.

"What're you talkin' about?"

Vamped Spike grimaced.  "I'm talkin' about the Slayer, and stop bein' such a prat.  You know right well what I'm brassed off about."

"You're brassed off?"  He snorted.  "That's a lark, seein' as how you're not even real---."

The punch sent him reeling to the ground, the force of it a thumping ache reverberating through his jaw, and Spike tasted the coppery tang of his own blood as the inside of his cheek split.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his other self, dancing around on the balls of his feet, the cigarette now crushed beneath his boot.  "C'mon," his vamped self taunted.  "Don't be such a nancy boy.  Get up and fight me like a real demon.  Or are you Slayer-whipped now?"

Without regard to how his chip might react, Spike lunged at the intruder in his dream, tackling him at mid-abdomen, sending both of them crashing in a tangle of black leather against the brick wall of the building.  As his fists barrelled into the other vamp's face, the fleeting thought that he was doing this with no blinding repercussions flashed across his mind's eye.

Vamped Spike chuckled as he broke free from the clinch, standing back from his counterpart and spitting out a stream of scarlet blood onto the sidewalk.  "Feels good, doesn't it?" he said.  "Feels _right."_

"Feels like you fuckin' hit me," Spike snarled.

"Well, yeah.  Someone's gotta knock some sense into you.  Moonin' over the Slayer like some lovesick puppy.  You're supposed to want to kill her, not shag her."  His lips twisted into a smirk.  "No, OK, I can see the fuckin' her bit, but still doesn't explain why you've gone all soft on her.  Might as well call you marshmallow man."

"I haven't gone soft!"

Vamp Spike's eyebrow lifted.  "Really?  Whaddaya call it then?  'Cause from this side of the fence, I'd say you were 'bout two feathers short of bein' a pillow."

"Case you haven't noticed, me and the Slayer are in a bit of a muddle at the moment.  We're just passing the time 'til Rupes gets us back to Sunnyhell.  Not my bloomin' fault everyone thinks we're engaged."

"Uh huh, yeah, that's it."  The other Spike pulled out his pack of cigarettes from his duster pocket.  "I mean really, dancing lessons?  You the Arthur Murray of the demon set now?"

"She didn't know what the hell she was doin'," he replied through gritted teeth.  "Got appearances to keep up.  Can't have the locals sussing out Buffy isn't---."

"And when did you start thinkin' of her as _Buffy?" Vamp Spike shot back.  "Wasn't that long ago it was Slayer this, or Slayer that, even the occasional 'bitch' thrown in every once in a while.  You can't go buggerin' it all up by goin' with her name now.  You start with that shit, and you might as well hand her your balls on a bloody platter."_

The growl erupted from his throat, and Spike launched himself at the other, his fury carved in vampiric ridges over his forehead.  The momentum continued through into his fists, raining punches down over his counterpart's face, his shoulders, beating him until the features began to bleed together, distorting into his human visage, before melting away into nothingness…

*************

His eyes shot open, and Spike found himself staring up at the ceiling, the black satin sheets cool against his back, entangled amid his bare legs.  A dream, that's all it was, just a bloody dream.  So much for waking up to images of a naked Slayer, he thought ruefully.  

Although it was already beginning to fade, the residual baggage left by the dream still ate at the vampire's gut, churning and grinding as it filled him with doubt, dredging up the sense of insecurity that had plagued him ever since Dru had left.  What was it she had said down in South America?  About seeing the Slayer around him?  And here he was, fooling himself into thinking that maybe there was something there, when their respective roles were more than obvious.  Vampire.  Slayer.  Enemies.

Except…he didn't really believe that, hadn't been able to believe that ever since Red's spell had been reversed.  Oh sure, he'd blustered on about the flavor of Buffy on his lips, feigning disgust, but that's all it was…just talk.  Put on a show for the humans, let them think that he hadn't been rocked by thinking he and the Slayer were in love, that those feelings didn't actually linger like an aftertaste in his mouth, more so than the memories of her kisses…or her hands…

The events of the past two days had only brought all that into sharper focus.  Ever since they'd come into the painting, Buffy had been treating him differently---hell, everyone was treating him differently---and for the first time since his encounter with the government guys, Spike was feeling like a man again, getting the respect he well deserved, being free to enjoy himself as he saw fit…within the confines of the bloody chip, of course.  He didn't care that it was all an illusion; all he cared about was how empowered he felt after such a long period of impotence.  It was about bleedin' time.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Spike spotted the clock on the nightstand for the first time, and grimaced.  Four-thirty.  Fuck.  He'd slept the entire day away.  No time now for anything more than a brief encounter with Buffy, even if she was up for more, and considering his own present state of mind, he wasn't one-hundred percent convinced he was himself.  Plus, in spite of his protestations the previous night to the contrary, he was hungry.  He sincerely hoped that she'd gone out like she'd said she was going to.

*************

Although he was still buckling up his belt as he opened the door, Spike stopped in its entrance, eyes alighting on the form of the young woman curled up on the floor, surrounded by brightly colored packages of every shape and size.  Dressed in simple slacks and a sweater, she had her hair pulled back into a low ponytail, her make-up light and simple.  The familiar tug in his groin was joined with the blond vampire's initial reaction…this was the Slayer he knew.     

The metallic click of his buckle alerted her to his presence, and Buffy looked up, a small smile curling her lips.  "Well, if it isn't Rip Van Winkle," she said lightly.  "I'd say you must've slept like the dead, except you're already dead so that would be kind of redundant."

"You're little miss perky today," he commented.  "Guess you didn't have as much trouble sleeping as you thought you would."

"It's absolutely gorgeous outside," she said, avoiding a direct response to his reference to her earlier assessment.  "Did you know there is this fabulous string of shops right around the corner?  I got some great things.  Oh, and I found a butcher who'll deliver, so no more embarrassing trips for me searching for blood."  As he glanced over at the kitchen, she added, "It's in the fridge.  I would've heated it up for you, but…"

Spike's gaze narrowed slightly as he looked back at Buffy.  "But what?"

She blushed.  "I wasn't sure how to do it," she confessed.  "There's no microwave."

The vampire shook his head.  "That's what the bleedin' stove is for, Slayer."  He was halfway to the kitchen when he stopped, looking back at her with a frown.  "Not that it matters, but how did you happen to pay for everything?"

Stretching to the couch at her side, Buffy grabbed a billfold and waggled it in front of her.  "Found the checkbook," she replied.  "Do you have any idea how much money we have?"

His only response was a roll of his azure eyes as he sauntered into the adjoining room.

*************

He stayed in the kitchen as he gulped down the mug of blood, the hot liquid streaming down his throat.  No, it wasn't human, but after two days of nothing, it was still an intoxicating elixir, and he was enjoying every second of it.  The only thing was, Spike couldn't restrain the demon from emerging as he drank, and for some reason, he didn't really fancy having Buffy watching him in that state.  He didn't think he could stomach the revulsion right now.

"Are you coming back in here or not?" the young woman called out, as if on cue.  "I want to open these presents."

The sudden sense of domesticity wasn't lost on the blond vampire, and he felt the first gnaw of fear in his stomach.  He wanted to talk about what had happened; she seemed bound and determined to keep busy with other things.  Still…a happy Slayer meant no stake for him, so maybe it was better to play things her way…for right now…

"Don't we have to be at the club in an hour?" Spike asked from the doorway.

"Hour and a half," she corrected, glancing at the clock.  "Lombardi called to say when the car would pick us up.  C'mon, we could've been done by now if you hadn't been such a lazybones today."

"Didn't have to wait for me, y'know.  You could've just opened them on your own."

Buffy rolled her eyes.  "Well, duh, they're addressed to both of us.  Except for one which says it's just for me."  She peered around at the packages.  "Now where'd I put that one?"

Spike settled himself on the couch, lounging back with his hands cupped behind his head, a faint smile on his face as he watched the Slayer act like a child at Christmas.  The dream seemed like an eternity away, and Sunnydale even further; if he didn't know better, the blond vampire would've almost said that he felt…content.

"I take it you didn't have much problem sleeping."  Her words were measured, careful, and it was obvious she was doing her best to keep her hazel eyes away from him.  Great, he thought, here it comes.

"Wasn't the sleepin', luv," he said.  "It was the dreamin'."  He nudged one of the bigger boxes toward her with his foot.  "Just start openin' them.  You'll find the one that's yours soon enough."

"You said…we were going to talk."  

"I did.  Isn't that what we're doin'?"

Buffy ran a fingernail under the edge of the wrapping paper, ripping the tape.  "That's not what I meant.  Stop making this so difficult."

"Sorry, luv, didn't know I was puttin' a cramp in your style."  It came out sounding more flip than he intended, but it was already too late.  The light flared in the young woman's hazel eyes, and her hands tore at the gift, savaging the paper.  

"If you want to just go back to me beating you up, I can do that.  With extreme pleasure," she bit back as she lifted the lid from the box, exposing an old-fashioned blender.

"Nothin' would make you happier, I'm sure."  His nostrils flared as he sat up, leaned forward to force her to look at him.  "Just another round of Kick the Spike to you, that's all this is.  Can't even think about sayin' what's really goin' on in that pretty little head of yours 'cause communicatin', well, that's really not something your Watcher's been very good at teachin' you, now is it?"

"You want to see how well I communicate?"  Buffy grabbed at another present.  "I can be the queen of communicators.  Just you see."

"Yeah, you're the queen of somethin', all right," he grumbled, his eyes flickering down to the slim book she now held in her hands, noticing the name of the poet on the spine before the Slayer tossed it aside.  "Should've known this morning was all an act.  When am I ever goin' to learn?"

"An act?"  She turned wide hazel eyes to gape at him, seeing him for the first time since he'd come back from the kitchen.  "Why would I pretend to enjoy kissing you?  What could I possibly gain from that?  If anyone's acting here, it's you."  Another gift found its way into her hands.  "You're just so terrified I'm going to stake you, you're doing everything you can to keep me distracted.  Good, but not quite Oscar-material, I think."

"Tell me how in that warped Slayer head of yours kissin' my mortal enemy is non-suicidal on my part.  I may not've been thinkin' with my brain, but that sure as hell doesn't mean I don't have one."  He settled back, pushing another present closer to her, arms folded across his chest.

There was a moment of silence as Buffy worked on the package, peeling back the paper to reveal a set of silver candlesticks.  Her fingers traced the delicate filigree on one of the bases, and Spike could feel her heartrate start to accelerate.  

"So…you weren't pretending?"  Her voice was barely above a whisper, husky as it caught in her throat.

"Isn't that what I've been sittin' here tellin' you?"  He paused.  "Wait."  He frowned as what she had said sunk in, the realization of what she was admitting untying the knot that had grown in his stomach.

Buffy's laughter was short and sharp.  "Well, we're a pair," she said wryly.  "Why do I get the feeling that this would all be that much easier if we just hated each other right now?"

Spike didn't have anything to say that, instead relaxing and watching as she unwrapped another box.  A faint flush colored her cheeks, and more than once, he caught her glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, but neither one of them spoke, not until she had opened the gift.

"What's this?" she queried, a tiny line between her brows.  Spike leaned over, watching as Buffy pulled out one, two, three, and then a fourth, brightly colored patch of silk.  "Why would anyone give us a box of scarves?" 

Chuckling under his breath, the blond vamp tugged on the end of the nearest scarf, sliding it slowly between her fingers, running it casually over her wrist.  "'Cause they've got great taste," he murmured, his voice a satin rumble.  "Don't tell me you don't know what to do with these.  Didn't Angel like to…play?"

It took her a moment, and then Buffy's hazel eyes widened in shock, her jaw slowly dropping.  "How do you---?"  She cut herself off.  "Never mind.  Stupid question."

Spike laughed, and took the present from her hands.  "Don't worry.  I'll just shut them away with all the other toys in my room.  You don't have to bruise your delicate sensibilities by lookin' at them."

Shaking her head, the young woman began to reach for another gift.  "I don't know why I'm surprised, considering where I work---."  Her face lit up.  "Oh!  That's the one that's for me!"

The vamp beat her to the punch, snatching the small box before she could reach it.  "So who's thinkin' givin' you a gift of your own is a good idea?" he teased, pulling out the card.  

"There's no other name on it," she said, twisting her body around so that she was between his legs, on her knees, reaching for the gift as he held it over his head beyond her grasp.  "It just says 'To Buffy' which means it's mine to open, not yours."  She lunged for the box, laughing as his legs locked around her waist, staying her motion and throwing her against his chest.  Her hazel eyes glittered as she looked down into his.  "You _so didn't want to do that."_

Before he could react, Buffy threw herself sideways onto the settee, knocking both of them off-balance, causing Spike to fumble with the present, sending it flying onto the floor and out of both of their reaches.  The vampire landed on top of the young woman, muscled arms holding himself up over her, chest heaving unnecessarily from the sudden exertion.  A crooked smile began to curl his lips.  "Play games like that, and I'll begin thinkin' you can handle those scarves after all," he said.

Buffy squirmed against the hardness of his hip, feeling the moisture begin to seep into her own pants.  "Never said I couldn't," she taunted, and was about to throw him off her when a soft scritching from the floor caught both of their attentions.

Their heads swivelled, gazes fixing on the small box that had landed upside down in their tussle.  A moment passed, and, as they watched, the wrapped package moved almost infinitesimally along the carpet.  The breath caught in the Slayer's throat.  "Please tell me that didn't…"

Spike didn't need to reply; the gift did it for them.  Another quarter-inch and both of them were up, off the couch, circling the box with their eyes locked onto it.  The vampire sniffed, but noticed nothing significant in the air, only the scent of Buffy and her excitement.  It distracted him for a moment, but when he saw the young woman step forward, closing in on whatever it was on the floor, he snapped back.

"Stop!"  She halted at the sound of his voice, looking at him quizzically.  "Gifts that crawl around on their own cannot be good," the blond vamp continued.  "And since that one's meant for you, I'm thinkin', you and distance is probably a crackin' idea."

Buffy watched as Spike lifted his boot and brought it down on the box, flattening it with an audible crunch.  She grimaced as he stepped back, revealing a mess of cardboard, skinny and broken insect-like legs, and wrapping paper.  "Is it dead?" she asked.

The vampire nudged it with his foot before crouching down to inspect it closer.  "Considerin' I've smashed the hell out of it, I'm goin' to say yes," he replied.  

"What was it?"

His blue eyes were almost black as he looked up at her.  "You really want to know?"

"Something tells me you're not going to say it was some kind of pet spider some real sicko at the club thought I might enjoy."

Picking at the remains, Spike pulled out something long and curled , ending with a needle-like point.  "That," he said, "is a scorpion tail."  

*************

She didn't care what Giles had said; it had been two days since she'd last seen Buffy, and Willow was officially worried.  She had tried taking her mind off it the previous evening with a long study session at the library, but that had only ended with her falling asleep in one of the chairs behind the stacks, having nightmares about vampires chasing her through the books.  The redhead had been awakened this morning by a very irritated librarian, and after profuse apologies, had dashed back to the dorm, scrambling to change her clothes and grab her books before slipping out to her first class.  

She hadn't actually had a chance to talk to the Watcher since their conversation the other day, but Willow had a sneaking suspicion that the blinking light on her answering machine was there because of him.  She hadn't had the time to check it this morning, but seeing as how Buffy was still eligible for milk carton status, she wasn't going to waste even more time by going back to her room; better to just head out to Giles' and get the scoop firsthand.

Her knock at the door went unanswered, and she stood there, looking around her, wondering what she should do.  It wasn't like him not to be in; Giles didn't have anything that seemed to take up his time other than Buffy and research.  Maybe something was wrong and by standing here debating about what she should do, she was killing him because he was lying inside, on the floor, bleeding to death…

OK, over-react much? she admonished herself, but bit her lip.  It couldn't hurt to try the door.  If he was out, it would be locked and she'd know everything was…

It turned under her grasp, and Willow froze, her mind racing.  Was it considered breaking and entering if the door was unlocked?  What if you knew the person?  Maybe he was seriously hurt after all.  Oh god, she thought, please let everything be OK…

"Giles?" she called out as she poked her head inside the apartment.  She immediately heard the distant sound of running water and audibly sighed in relief.  Shower.  That was of the good.  Time to relax.

Dropping her bag by the door, Willow stepped inside, surveying the many books that were strewn around the room.  Wow, someone had a monster research party, she thought, then pouted.  How come nobody called me? Oh yeah.  I was at the library.

As she passed the desk, her gaze was caught by the painting that rested there, and she stopped, looking down at it wistfully.  Buffy had been right; it was certainly pretty.  Lifelike even.  Bending over, Willow's eyes scanned the tiny figures, drinking in their gowns, envying the bright smiles on their faces, only to be stopped by the oddly familiar form of a woman in a blue dress.  If I didn't know better, she thought, I'd think that was…

And then she spotted the platinum head of the figure's partner, her mouth making a tiny "o" as she sucked in her breath.  Oh sweet goddess, it isn't, it _can't be.  But it certainly looked like it, and the more she stared, the more convinced she got that the couple dancing near the orchestra were Spike and Buffy.  Without even thinking, her hand lifted, shock taking over, fingertips gently touching the raised oil of her friend's dress…_

To be continued in Chapter 9:  Fools Rush In…


	9. Fools Rush In

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Someone has sent a deadly gift to Buffy, but she and Spike caught it in time, while back in Sunnydale, Willow has accidentally touched the painting…

*************

Her legs were like ice, encased in a silky mesh that clung to her skin like spider webs, only matched by the goosebumps that had suddenly erupted along her chest.  Willow glanced down and her green eyes widened at the sight of her exposed cleavage, thrust upwards and outwards by the satin sheath of her corseted bodice, only a tiny bit of lace edging the seam allowing her any sense of modesty.  Around her neck hung a large box on a strap, filled with row upon row of cigarette packs, and a casual peek at her feet showed her the tottery heels that completed her ensemble.  

Only then did the young witch notice the orchestra behind her, the brass instruments catching the light from overhead and sending shiny glints off into the heavens, each musician playing as if his life depended on it.  There weren't that many people dancing, but Willow saw that the men outnumbered the women in the room almost three to one; those females that were there were already on the dance floor.

For a second, the redhead pouted.  How come I don't get to be wearing one of the fancy evening dresses? she thought.  I could look pretty, _and I'd be a lot warmer.  And then it hit her.  This is what happened to Buffy and Spike, they got sucked into the painting, followed almost immediately by…_

...Oh sweet goddess…_I'm in the painting._

So lost was she in her newfound knowledge, the young woman didn't even notice the hand that slinked out from a nearby table, inching toward her, thumb and index finger at the ready…

"Ow!"  The cigarettes went flying through the air as Willow jumped at the sudden contact, the cheek of her buttock smarting from the man's pinch.  As she scrambled for her balance, her ankle turned, pitching her sideways over the edge of the bandstand and into the lap of a spectacled trumpet player.  The music screeched to a halt, and the redhead felt the eyes of everyone in the room turn to see what had caused the disturbance, settling on her struggling form as her hose-clad legs kicked uselessly at the air.

A tuxedoed man from the doorway bolted over, and Willow held her breath as he got larger and larger as he approached.  Wide-eyed, she stared up into his black gaze as he reached over, scooped her up into his burly arms, and tenderly deposited her into a nearby chair.  

"You OK, Willow?" he asked, his deep voice incongruously soft as his eyes flickered over her form.  "What happened?"

The redhead pointed a shaking finger toward the offending man.  "He…pinched me," she explained, her voice wavering, then jerked her head back to look at the black-eyed man again.  "Wait.  You know me?"

But he was already gone, his tuxedo jacket straining across his back as he leaned over, picked up the now-pale pincher up by his lapels.  "You're looking for some chin music, right, pal?" he menaced.  "'Cause I gotta think that's the only reason you're even thinking of letting your mitts touch Miss Rosenberg."  

The pincher whimpered as the bouncer gave him a rough shake.  "C'mon," he whined.  "Have you seen her ass?  And she was practically begging for it---."  The sudden punch to his gut forced the air from his lungs, and he gave up struggling as his beefy captor began dragging him toward the club's front door.

"She's not like the other girls," the dark bouncer growled.  "Willow don't skate around."

The young woman watched as the man who'd pinched her was tossed out onto the street, his outraged cry filtering back into the club as the doors slowly swung shut.  Behind her, the music started to play again, and gradually the couples returned to the dance floor, already forgetting the minor disturbance, concentrating only on their partners.

The bouncer reappeared in the entrance, jaw set, but when his black eyes came to rest on the redhead still sitting where he'd perched her, his face softened and he walked over, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.  "I shoulda seen it coming," he said as he stood before her.  "You shouldn't have to put up with mugs like that, not a nice doll like you."

"Ummmm…thanks."  As Willow rose to her feet, she winced as a sudden pain shot through her ankle, and would've sank back down if he hadn't caught her.

"You hurt?"

"My ankle.  It's a little…"  Her words faded as, all of a sudden, the young witch found herself scooped up again into his heavily muscled arms, a tiny doll in the grasp of an overgrown child, and held her breath as he began marching for a door behind the orchestra.  "My…box…" she said, pointing haphazardly at the cigarettes that still littered the floor.

"I'll get 'em," he said.  "You need to take a breather, make sure you haven't done any serious damage to that..."  His eyes flickered over the curve of her leg, and Willow could've sworn he was blushing as he quickly looked away.

"That's really nice of you," she said with a smile, and couldn't help it widening when his color deepened.  Now that she could see him up close, she wasn't nearly as frightened.  Sure, he was large---OK, gigantic was probably more accurate---but there was something almost child-like in those dark eyes, and he was definitely leaning toward cute, in a big, boxer-like way.  No more reason to be scared of him, than it would be to be scared of Xander…except for the fact that he was nearly twice her friend's size…

As he pushed open the door with his shoulder, Willow was jolted as they came to an abrupt stop, a scrawny young man with a clipboard blocking their path.  "Gino!" he scolded.  "Why aren't you at the door?"

"There was a problem, Sammy," the bouncer explained.  "I was just---."

"Miss Rosenberg."  For the first time, the manager noticed just who was being toted, and his mouth set in a grim line.  "What's happened now?"

"It wasn't her fault this time," Gino rushed.  "Some mug grabbed her ass---."

But Sammy wasn't listening.  "You know I've got to tell Mr. Lombardi, don't you, Miss Rosenberg?  And this, your first night back.  What's he going to say?"

"I'm guessing it's not going to be 'glad to see you,'" Willow said with a weak smile.  

"You can bet your ass it's not!"  The voice boomed from the open door in the hallway, and all three turned their heads to see the older man fuming in the frame, smoke billowing around his head as he ripped the cigarette from between his lips to speak.  "Get in here.  Both of you."

Sammy watched as Gino and Willow disappeared into the office, his rat-like face wrinkling into a frown.  "But there's nobody watching the door," he protested.

"Where's Spike?"

"Not in yet."

Lombardi rolled his eyes.  "That means Buffy's not here yet either, right?"  He didn't even wait for an answer.  "I swear those two are going to be the death of me," he muttered before slamming the door shut behind him.

*************

Willow shrank into the chair, arms folded across her chest in an attempt to hide her cleavage.  She'd actually crossed her legs at one point, but when the tiny skirt rode up, exposing more of her thigh and potentially even more higher than that, she knew from the scarlet tinge in Gino's cheeks that too much was showing and hastily set both her feet back onto the floor.  

Her head was in overload, trying to take all this new information on board without looking like she didn't know what the hell was going on.  Obviously, the painting had been charmed in some way, and now she was stuck inside it.  I wonder if that's what Giles had called to tell me about, she wondered.  Maybe I should've listened to my messages after all.

What frightened her even more was that she hadn't seen hide nor hair of Buffy or Spike since her arrival.  They'd been in the picture when she'd touched it, so that had to mean they were still here, right?  If something had happened to them, surely they would've disappeared from the artwork, and she would never have seen them, and therefore never have touched them, and then she wouldn't be here…She blinked, trying to clear her head of the muddle her thoughts were creating, then bit her lip as the older man, the one she assumed was Lombardi, sat on the corner of his desk in front of her.

"Lemme guess," he started.  "It wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't!"

Lombardi shot Gino an angry glare.  "No one's asking you."  He turned back to Willow.  "You wanna tell me what happened, or do we call this three strikes and you're out?"  Behind her, the redhead heard the bouncer breathe in to speak, only to be silenced by the older man's finger, pointing at him in warning.  "I said, stay out of it, Gino."

"Someone…pinched me," the redhead stumbled.  "That's why I dropped my box…which is why I fell…and when I tried to stand back, my ankle hurt…which is why Gino was carrying me back here."  She bit her lip as she looked up at him with wide green eyes.

He looked down at her for a full minute, blue eyes narrowed, jaw locked, before grimacing.  "How do you expect me to stay mad at you when you pull that innocent face on me, Red?" he said, breaking his gaze to stub out his cigarette behind him.  "If you'd'a lied this time, you'd be out on your ear right now, you know that, don't you?"

Willow nodded vigorously.  "Oh, yes, sir."

"And you," Lombardi said, turning to Gino, "your job does not include keeping an eye on the cigarette girl.  Now, if she was on the roster, that would be a whole different ball of wax, but she's not, so keep your paws to yourself, capisce?"

"Yes, Mr. Lombardi."

"How do you expect me to trust you to put you on the roster if you keep pulling shit like this, Red?" the boss continued.  "I know you want it, and you're certainly just as much of a looker as any of the other girls, but if you can't even sell the decks…"  He let his voice trail off, shaking his head.

Willow's head raced.  Roster?  Other girls?  Then it clicked.  The other women she'd seen…they were paid to dance with the men; that must be the roster Lombardi was referring to.  She felt her heart quicken.  Dancing was better than selling cigarettes, plus…more clothes…

"I can do it," she said eagerly, straightening in her seat and smiling as wide as she could.  "Let me give the roster a go tonight, Mr. Lombardi.  I'll prove to you I'm just as good as the other girls, better even.  I can show you now if you want…"  Thank god for those dance lessons for Jason Green's bar mitzvah, she thought.  

Lombardi chuckled.  "Well, you've got moxie, no doubt about that, but I don't think I need a private demonstration."  He pursed his lips as he just studied the young woman, then finally nodded.  "OK, you got one shot."  A knock at the door pulled his attention.  "What?" he barked.

Sammy poked his head in.  "The car just pulled up with Spike.  You want me to---?"

"Get him in here," Lombardi growled, interrupting the young manager.  

Willow's eyes widened.  Did he just say Spike? she thought.  Maybe that means Buffy's not too far behind…

*************

"I'm going to ask around tonight, see what I can find out," Buffy said, pulling her coat closer around her as they entered the rear entrance of the club.  "Maybe there's someone who doesn't like me, although I can't imagine why.  I haven't been around here long enough to piss anyone off."

"Probably some bird who's jealous I picked you instead of her," Spike commented, grinning back at her wickedly.

The young woman kicked at him good-naturedly, as much as the long skirt of her gown would allow.  "Big-headed much?"

The pair were stopped short when the young man with the clipboard materialized before them.  "Mr. Lombardi wants you in his office, Spike," he said, his eyes darting back to where Buffy stood.

The blond vampire sighed.  "Wonder what the hell I've done now," he muttered and started to saunter after the young man, when the Slayer's voice stopped him.

"Hey!  Since when don't I get a good-bye kiss?"

He tilted his head as he looked back at her over his shoulder, blue eyes darkening as he tried to suss out her intentions.  After their little adventure with the presents, she'd disappeared to get ready for the evening, only emerging when he'd threatened bodily harm if she didn't get down to the car.  For the entire ride, they'd only discussed what had happened with the scorpion, what it could mean, who might have sent it; not once had there been any mention of the more personal portion of their earlier conversation.

Still…her attitude was changed towards him, more relaxed, more like she'd been the previous evening at the party, more…intimate.  The wall that usually surrounded Buffy was still there, but somehow it seemed lower, more like she was standing right up to it, leaning over, and less like she was thirty yards back and ordering workers to add more bricks to make it taller.  But this…

Her hazel eyes gleamed, a soft smile curling her lips, and Spike wondered for a moment if this was all just part of the act for Sammy's benefit.  Hang on, he thought.  Hadn't they both established that they hadn't been pretending, that they'd both enjoyed the kiss, that they'd both enjoy…more?  Who cares, he decided.  She was offering; only a fool would say no…

Sammy watched as the blond bouncer closed the distance between him and Buffy, his head tilted in that way only Spike could pull off, his tongue running over his teeth.  The young manager's gaze was riveted on the young woman as he saw her breath quicken, her chest begin to rise and fall even faster, her smile of anticipation making his own mouth water, and he felt the familiar rise of jealousy in his throat as their lips met, teasing at first, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip before skating over their surface.  Buffy's hands lifted to Spike's neck, pulling him closer, forcing him to intensify their kiss, her body leaning forward to press against his.  Only then could Sammy look away.  Somehow, he always felt like a peeping tom when he watched them like this.

Buffy was the first to break away from the kiss, her breathing ragged, her eyes dark, two high spots of color on her cheeks.  "You'd…better go," she murmured.

He pushed a loose strand of hair off her forehead, and grimaced.  "You know, it's probably a good thing I have to stand for my job," he commented.  "Don't think sittin' would be too comfortable right about now."

She laughed and shoved him away.  "I'll see you later."

Turning on his heel, Spike followed the young man with the clipboard to Lombardi's office, a noticeable lightness to his step.  Yep, she'd most definitely be seein' him later…

"You two get around to unwrapping your gifts yet?" Sammy asked as they approached the door.

The mention of the presents brought Spike back into the moment, and his eyes narrowed as he watched the little man's back.  "Yeah," he drawled.  "Which one was yours again?"  Not that he really expected him to admit to sending a deadly scorpion, but hey, didn't hurt to ask.

"The book of poetry," the manager said with a blush.  "I know she likes it…"  He quietened as he knocked, waited for the perfunctory "What?", and pushed it open, standing back to allow Spike free entrance.

The sight of Gino standing just inside the room, arms folded across his burly chest, didn't surprise the blond vampire in the slightest.  It was the red-haired, green-eyed, scantily clad woman who swivelled to see who was in the doorway that did.

Seeing Willow in the boss' office sent Spike's stomach into a downward spiral, and it was all he could do to keep a stoic face.  Her presence could only mean one thing; Rupert had found a way to get them back, and he needed the witch on the inside to sort things out from this end…and that pretty soon, he and Buffy would be back in Sunnydale and things would be exactly like they were before.  For some reason, that was the last thing the vamp wanted right now, but he also didn't want to give the Slayer any more reason to hate him when this was all over.

Holding up his hand, Spike said, "Hang on," and stepped back into the hall, spying the young woman about to enter the dressing room.  "Buffy!" he called.   When her gaze jerked up, he nodded his head in the direction of the office.  "Better get in here."

*************

Buffy's eyes widened when she saw her best friend sitting in the small room.  "Willow!" she exclaimed, rushing forward to sweep her into a huge hug.  "You're here!"

"Well, where else did you expect her to be?" Lombardi commented.  "Vacations got to end sometime."

"How are you?  Are you OK?" asked a concerned redhead as the pair broke apart.

"Just fine," the Slayer assured her.  "You know…considering."  Her hazel eyes rolled discreetly, and she gave her friend a small smile.

"Yeah, it's a little…weird, isn't it?"  Willow brightened.  "Oh!  But guess what?  I get to be on the roster!"

That stopped Buffy.  "What?"

"We've just been talking about it," the young witch continued.  "Just for tonight, though.  I have to prove myself."

The Slayer swept past her to square off with Lombardi.  "Take her off," she ordered.

"She's the one who asked for it, Summers."

"She's not…ready."

Willow grabbed her friend's arm, turning her around.  "No, Buffy, really, I want to do this."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"Trust me, Will," Buffy said, speaking very deliberately.  "You _don't."_

The redhead's smile faded.  "I…don't?"

"A strong and emphatic no."

"Are you two about done?" Lombardi sighed.  

"Yes," the Slayer said, turning back to face him.  "It's decided.  She doesn't go on the roster."

"Fine.  Then get out on the floor.  You both got jobs to do."

"Is your foot OK, Willow?"  It was the first time Gino had spoken since the boss' reproval, and everyone in the room turned to look at him as he stepped forward to face the young woman.

She tested it, rotating her ankle before smiling up at the dark bouncer.  "Much better," she said.  "Nothing broken or bruised except for the old ego."

"C'mon," Buffy said, looping her arm through her friend's and pulling her out the door.

Spike turned to follow, only to be stopped by Lombardi's voice.  "No, you stay.  Gino, get back on the door."

The blond vampire watched as his partner turned, hesitated, then took a deep breath and pivoted back to stare at the boss.  "You know," he said.  "You shouldn't call her Red.  She's got a name, you know.  Willow."

Lombardi shook his head.  "As long as she's my employee, I'll call her whatever I want.  Now get your lovestruck ass outta my office."

*************

Buffy pulled Willow aside as soon as they were clear of the others, eyes darting surreptitiously at Sammy hanging around the hall.  "Please tell me Giles figured out how to get us back," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I wish I could," the redhead replied.  "But I can't.  Sorry.  I'm just as stuck as you are."

The Slayer physically deflated.  "Well, I guess that just means we play make-believe for a little bit longer," she said.  Her gaze travelled over Willow's clothes.  "What are you supposed to be?"

"I'm the cigarette girl---."  Her mouth clicked audibly shut as the door opened and Gino came out, hands thrust deep into his pockets.  He glanced down at her, blushed, and rushed off, with both girls looking after him with a frown.  "And I think the bouncer likes me," she added.

"Yeah, one of the things about coming through is that the painting seems to make up this whole history for you," Buffy said.

The sound of a crash on the other side of the office door was followed by a long stream of English curses, catching both of their attentions.  "Is Spike in trouble?" Willow asked.

"Probably."

"What does he do here?"

"He's a bouncer, like Gino."

The redhead turned back to Buffy, a frown worrying her brow.  "What about the chip?" she queried.

The Slayer shrugged.  "Hasn't come up yet."  Behind them, Sammy cleared his throat, and Buffy rolled her eyes.  "We better get to work," she said.  "We can talk later."  She turned, then stopped, biting her lip.  "Oh, and if anyone says anything about me and Spike, just…kind of…go with the flow.  Don't argue with what you might hear.  I'll explain everything after---."  The manager cleared his throat again, and the young blonde's head shot around.  "I heard you the first time!"  Sammy visibly cowered, and Buffy sighed.  "Later," she promised to Willow, before sweeping out into the main room.

Willow hung by the door, watching as the young manager went scurrying past.  It all seemed so…real; it was boggling the amount of detail the magic entailed in creating this world.  For the first time since coming through, the young witch began to wonder who exactly would ever want a painting like that…

*************

Her long nail ran along the boy's bare chest, dragging a line of crimson in its wake, and she sighed as she reached his navel, circling it in a lazy way before etching a path down his hairless thigh.

"C'mon, Melinda, stop playing with your food."  The other woman's voice was thick from the blood that clung to her lips, but the annoyance still shone through.

"I'm not hungry," Melinda pouted, and rolled over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling of the cavern.  "Somebody just go ahead and stake me."

"Stop being the drama queen and just get over it, will you?  The painting's gone, Tony's gone, and your little demon friend isn't coming back with good news, if he bothers to come back at all after the scare tactics you pulled on him."

"I know."  She felt her fangs retract, her game face sliding away, and turned blue eyes to peer over at her friend.  "I just can't believe he ran away, not after everything we've been through.  And it pisses me off."

"So stop moaning and do something about it," her friend advised.  "Although why you'd bother for a human, I'll never know."

"He was different.  Special.  And I love him."

"Yeah, whatever."

Melinda sighed and sat up.  Even if her friend didn't understand, she did have a good point.  It was time to stop wishing for everyone else to sort out her problems and tackle them herself…

To be continued in Chapter 10:  Pistol Packin' Mama…


	10. Pistol Packin' Mama

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Willow has shown up in the land of the painting as a cigarette girl, while back in Sunnydale, Giles and Anya are doing what they can to figure out how to get everyone back…

*************

Something about a hot shower always made him feel like a new man.  Maybe it was the sloughing away of the day's detritus as he scrubbed at his skin, or perhaps it was the sensations of steaming water searing into his skull, clearing it of extraneous miscellany and leaving behind only those thoughts that would provide use to his daily existence.  Either way, when Giles emerged from the heat of the bath, stepping into the marked cool of his bedroom with wrinkled and wet feet, he felt for the first time since learning the truth about the painting that things would most definitely work out for the best.

He almost felt like whistling as he quickly dressed.  He'd heard Willow's call while he'd been in the shower, which meant that she'd listened to his message and brought the ingredients Anya had asked for.  Now, all they would have to do would be to wait for Xander to bring over the ex-vengeance demon, and the four of them could set about to going and seeing this H'roven artist.  The Watcher had done some follow-up research after learning of the painter's existence, but had unearthed very little outside of what information Anya had already provided.  Why she was so frightened of this particular demon, Giles had no idea, but it certainly must be based on something.  He'd just have to ask her again when she arrived.

"I hope the magic shop didn't overcharge you again, Willow," the older man said as he came down the stairs, then stopped as he surveyed the empty room.  "Willow?" he called out, but was answered only by silence.  Strange.  He could've sworn he'd heard her while in the shower.  Taking the few steps to peer into the kitchen, he turned, facing the unoccupied lounge, his blue eyes narrowed as doubt began to creep in.  Perhaps he'd been hearing things.  It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd imagined he'd heard voices in the flat that turned out to be nothing.

The knock at the door broke him from his reverie, and Giles strode over to answer it, his brow still furrowed.  Only then did he notice the bag by the entrance.  Bending over to pick it up, his left hand turned the knob on the door, allowing whoever was on the other side to come in, his gaze concentrating on the abandoned duffle in his grasp.

"Um, a little help here?"

Giles looked up to see a struggling Xander with an armful of bags, teeth gritted in deliberation as he did his best to balance them without toppling over.  "Oh," the Watcher murmured, the bag forgotten as he set it aside, reaching forward to remove the uppermost sacks from the young man's pile.  Standing back, he peered into the nearest as Xander stumbled forward, dropping them into a hurried pile on the floor before exhaling loudly.

"Where's Anya?" Giles asked.

"Bringing in the rest of the things," the younger man explained.  "She only let me carry the stuff she wasn't worried about."

The Watcher frowned.  "There's more?  What could she possibly need so many things for?"

Xander shook his head.  "Don't ask me.  I'm only the delivery boy."  As he straightened, he spotted the duffle the older man had just discarded.  "Did Will have any problems getting the other ingredients?"

"I don't know," Giles murmured as he pulled out a very large jar of a viscous blue liquid.  "She's not here."

"But…that's her bag."

The two men looked at each other for a moment, the question unspoken between them.  Xander was the first to move, almost running to where the painting still sat on the desk, leaning over to stare into it intently before his brown eyes widened.

"Holy sweet hotsy totsy mama," he breathed.

The Watcher was behind him in a shot, his heart pounding as the very real possibility of the witch's disappearance loomed before him in the shape of…

Behind his glasses, his blue gaze narrowed as he absorbed the tiny outfit…the box around her neck…the unfamiliar length of the redhead's hose-clad legs as she bent over a table at the edge of the picture.  "Oh my," he said, his voice barely audible.

"What's oh my?" queried Anya from the doorway.  "Oh my is not good."

The two men stood back as she rushed up to the desk, shifting the bag to her other arm in order to get a better look at the painting.  It only took her a moment before she sighed, "Oh my."

"She must have…while I was in…and now she's…"  Giles seemed incapable of finishing any of his sentences, each trailing off into its own world before turning around to slap the other two in the face with their observations.

"Didn't you tell her not to touch it?" Anya demanded.

"If you must know, I didn't actually speak to her," the Watcher retorted.  "But I was very clear in my message, I'm sure."

"So now we have two reasons to go see this H'whatsit guy," Xander said, and rubbed his hands together.  "Let's get the show on the road."

"Road schmoad," Anya said, collapsing onto the couch and folding her arms across her chest.  "I needed Willow.  Without her, you can just say goodbye to this whole harebrained idea."

"What're you talking about?"  Her boyfriend circled around, sitting on the edge of the coffee table to look at her expectantly.  "I'll just go pick up the stuff from the shop and we'll be back in business."

She rolled her eyes.  "I need Willow's magic skills, you ninny.  I've still got to make the protection amulets, and it takes two to complete the spell to contact H'roven."

"Well, I can help with those," Giles offered.  "I've done my share of magic in my day, you know."

"And leave only Xander on weapons?" Anya argued.  "I don't think so.  I'm not doing this unless I feel one-hundred percent safe that I'm not going to get skewered like a shish kebab."  She glanced over at the young man.  "Sorry, hon."

"But this is it, Ahn.  We're the cavalry."

She brightened.  "Oh!  What about that guy that Buffy and Willow keep talking about?  What's his name?  Riley?  He's big.  He could probably handle a sword or crossbow or something."

"And we tell him…what?  Buffy's been sucked into some demon painting and we need to go find the guy who did it because he lives in some weird other hell dimension?  Oh, and by the way, do you mind holding this stake and crossbow, 'cause things could get a little ugly when Anya does her mojo."  Xander shook his head.  "He won't understand.  There's no way we could drag him into this now."

"Then that's it.  Say good-bye to Buffy and Willow, 'cause I'm going to burn that painting before anyone else gets sucked through."  She started to rise, only to be pushed back into her seat when Giles marched around and grabbed her shoulder.

"You are doing no such thing!" he ordered, his blue eyes flaring.  "I am not going to let you whine your way out of this, Anya.  You will do the spell, I will help you, and Xander will be more than fine on weapons.  His experience working with Buffy for the last three years hasn't been for nothing, you know."  He straightened.  "And the sooner we get started, the sooner we'll be back, so I suggest you get up and get down to the magic shop for those amulet ingredients before I---."

"Fine, I'm going," Anya interrupted, her thin face wrinkled into a scowl.  She stood, pressing herself back into the edge of the couch cushions as she inched her away around the Watcher, heading for the front door.  "But I just want you to know, when you get turned into Giles-on-a-stick, I'm going to be the first person to say I told you so."

*************

Hugging the wall, her eyes darted around the darkness, scanning for the young manager's presence before venturing further into the hallway.  Sammy had been very clear about when her break was supposed to be, and though Willow knew that she should've waited another ten minutes before coming into the back, her toes were begging her to ignore the rules for once and just get off her feet before they exploded from the pain.  

It was only after she slipped inside the dressing room, closing the door silently behind her, did the redhead let out the breath she'd been holding.  For some reason, that Sammy gave her the wiggins, running around with his little clipboard, always seeming to be in the middle of everything.  She'd almost tripped over him twice this evening already---not that she needed any more help stumbling around in these impossibly high heels and may God smote down the idiot who ever invented them---and been scolded as a result.  Somehow, she didn't think painting Willow rated very high on the young man's like list.

The sound of crying caused her to turn, gazing over the empty room, before stepping forward, trying to locate the source.  Only one other door existed along the walls, and biting her lip, the young witch reached out to open it.

The huddled form of a sobbing blonde greeted Willow as she stood in the entrance.  At the sound of the new arrival, she looked up, the make-up in black streaks down her too-full cheeks.  "Go away," she said through her tears.

The redhead stepped forward, crouching down to the other woman's level.  "What's wrong?" she asked softly.

"Oh, like you care," the blonde spat.  "She's your friend.  She's happy, you're happy, and who the fuck cares what anyone else is feeling."

Willow's mind whirled.  This being thrust into the middle of all these situations harkened back to her dreams about showing up for a play and not even knowing she was in it.  What had they called that?  An actor's nightmare?  Well, this was definitely hers.  "You want to talk about it?" she offered, not having the slightest clue what the other was referring to but hating to see anyone suffer like this.  "Sometimes it helps if you can get it out of your system."

"He just used me," the blonde murmured, her dark eyes averted as she rocked gently on the floor of the closet.  "All along.  I was just a piece of meat to him.  Chewed me up and spit me out."

"Who?  Who are you talking about?"

She ignored the question.  "You should've seen him last night.  He was all over her, holding her, dancing with her, laughing at her stupid little jokes.  I even went up and asked him for a dance, you know, for old-time sake, and he just brushed me off.  Said last night was for _her."  She looked up at Willow, her eyes brimming with tears.  "Why do men do that?" she begged.  "They tell you that they love you, and then someone else comes along, and bam!  It's like you never existed."_

The lump in her throat was almost instantaneous as the all-too-recent memory of a naked Veruca curled up against Oz---her Oz!---flashed across her mind's eye, and she swallowed hard in an attempt to rid herself of it, as if that act could erase the picture that had haunted her over the past few weeks.  "Sometimes…it's not something…they can control," the redhead finally managed, knowing as it came out that it was a weak argument, that even she didn't really believe it.

The other woman laughed, a harsh, wet sound that threatened to gurgle over the pair of them.  "Yeah," she agreed.  "Control is not exactly Spike's strong suit."

The mention of the vampire's name brought Willow back to the present.  Spike?  She'd had a thing going with Spike?  Not the real Spike, she argued back to herself.  He's only been here two days, it was the pre-painting Spike.  But who was this other woman she was talking about…?  And then it dawned on her, remembering the blonde's first words when she'd stepped into the closet.  "You're her friend."  Buffy?  No!  It couldn't be…

"He can't just get away with this," the other woman was saying, struggling against her skirt to rise to her feet.  "He has to learn.  You can't just trifle with someone's emotions like that.  You can't cause them so much pain; it's just not right."  A stunned Willow could only watch as she reached for a long coat, her hand disappearing into a side pocket before extracting a tiny gun, cradling it in her palm before turning back to face the redhead.  "I think it's about time he felt his own pain."

As the young witch jumped to her feet, the same ankle that had turned earlier decided to do a repeat performance, and she grimaced in pain as she struggled to stay vertical.  "Hang on there," she said.  "You don't want to do this."

The blonde shook her head.  "Of course you don't understand," she said.  "You were so quick to move out when he moved in with Buffy, to give them 'space,' you said, 'cause they needed quality alone time.  You've been on their side all along."

"I'm not on anyone's side!" Willow protested.  "I'm totally sideless!"

"I wish I could believe that.  I like you.  I'm really sorry."

Maybe it was because she was distracted by the pain in her foot.  Maybe it was because people in this painting world were blessed with super-human speed and strength.  Or maybe it was just because she didn't really believe the blonde would actually do it.  Either way, Willow was totally taken surprise by the force of the other woman's blow, sending her reeling into a black oblivion even before her body slumped to the closet floor…

*************

He'd seen her wincing as she'd slunk her way to the door behind the orchestra, and he just knew that her ankle was bothering her more than she'd let on earlier.  Why hadn't she just spoken up to Lombardi?  He would've let her go home for the night; after all, she'd come back from her vacation early and technically wasn't even supposed to be working until tomorrow.  Women, Gino thought, mentally shaking his head.  If I live to be a hundred, I'll never understand them.

He'd been surprised to see her walk in earlier, her wide smile lighting up the back hallway like a beacon, calling out a casual hello to the dark bouncer before disappearing into the dressing room with the other girls.  Ever since she'd starting working at the Rising Sun, Gino had found himself thinking of no other girl but her, watching her when he wasn't supposed to, getting into trouble more than once to help cover up some of her mistakes.  Willow was one of the few dames in the joint who actually talked to him like he was a person, not just a piece of meat necessary to guard their precious little selves, and he'd responded to her overtures of friendship like a hungry puppy.  She was, without a doubt, the smartest girl he'd ever met, but at the same time, she didn't treat him like an imbecile, not like some of the others.  When he didn't get something, she was patient enough to explain it for him, and that, more than anything else, cemented how he felt about her.  As someone who was used to thinking with his fists, knowing someone thought that what was between his ears wasn't just a waste of space was worth more than all the tea in China.

His eyes darted to the door again, and he couldn't help the frown that came to his brow.  She wasn't back yet.  Hopefully, that didn't mean she'd run into the young manager; for some reason, Sammy had been gunning for Willow ever since she started.  The last thing she needed right now was another run-in with the little twerp.

Without moving his body, Gino tilted his head ever so slightly toward Spike.  "Call of nature," he said, his lips barely moving.  "Be back in a sec."

"I'll be right here," the blond replied, his own gaze locked on the dance floor.

The dark bouncer could barely contain the smile as his eyes followed his partner's path, ending on the twirling form of an effervescent Buffy as she moved in time with the music, carefully maintaining the distance between her and the elderly gentleman who held her in his arms.  He didn't care how many times the Englishman argued to the contrary; the thing that somehow connected him and his fiancée was bigger than anything Gino had ever seen before.  It was almost as if Spike was afraid that if he wasn't watching her, she'd somehow disappear.  He shook his head as he ambled for the door behind the orchestra.  If only he could get Willow to feel the same thing…

So lost in his own daydream, he didn't even see the rushing blonde emerge from the back until the two had collided.  "Oh!  Sorry 'bout that, Pauline."  His apology was automatic, and Gino was already back into his own thoughts and images of a certain redhead before he could notice the woman's tear-stained face…

*************

She forced her smile wider as the bottom of his foot connected yet again with her toe, squashing it under his weight before stepping away and sweeping her closer to the orchestra.  Keep the customer happy, Buffy, she reminded herself.  It's only a dance, and you can grow another toe tomorrow.  Just remember that it could always be worse.

Too bad not everyone dances like Spike, she thought ruefully, the memories of their day of lessons flooding over her body, coursing over her skin like a velvet cloak, hardening her nipples as the recollection of his body pressed against hers drifted her away from her current partner and into naughty thoughts of icy tongues and strong hands.  To be honest, she didn't know what in hell was going on between the two of them, but one thing was for certain; there would be no more denying the physical attraction that bound them, seeming to leap between them like electricity every time he looked at her…she looked at him…

She couldn't help her hazel eyes wandering to where he stood now in the doorway, back straight, the crisp lines of his tuxedo broadening his muscular frame.  The clothes were different, but the costume remained the same…the shield of ebony the blond vampire's marker for his claim to all things big and bad.  Buffy had seen the fear in those cerulean depths when she'd been talking to Willow in Lombardi's office, knew that he wasn't looking forward to returning to Sunnydale and the half-existence he seemed to have there.  For a moment, she felt a pang of guilt, then shoved it aside.  We're not even back yet, she admonished herself.  Who knows what things will be like when we return?

The young woman wasn't surprised when she saw him watching her in kind, saw the corner of his lips raise ever so slightly as he met her gaze, and felt the now-familiar tug on the cord that seemed to bind her heart and her sex, a gentle reminder to the former's existence…a sudden flash of moisture to the latter's…

It was the sudden glint of the light overhead as it caught the metal in the girl's hand that jerked Buffy's attention away from the blond vampire, snapping her head to see the gowned woman raise her arm…aim it at the doorway…

"Spike!"

The Slayer's voice cut through the music, immediately snatching the vampire's notice, his body automatically stepping forward as if nearing her was necessary to respond.  He didn't see the other woman off to his side, only cocked his head in query as Buffy tore herself away from her dance partner, breaking into a cold run, damning her long skirts as they tangled around her legs.

Only Superman is faster than a speeding bullet.

The discharge of the gun pierced the air, sending the occupants scurrying for cover as many of the young women screamed in fear.  The Slayer vaulted herself through the air, tackling the shooter about the shoulders, sending both of them sprawling into the orchestra, taking down several music stands and chairs at the same time.  A tuba managed to somehow bounce against Buffy's back, but she was oblivious to the cold metal as she wrenched the small pistol from the woman's hand, tossing it aside and out of her reach, before sitting up and straddling her.  

"What're you---?" she began, stopping only when she felt the hand come down on her shoulder.  She looked up to see Tony's spectacled face frowning down at her.

"You better…see Spike," he said, his voice low, his eyes darting over to the doorway.

As she scrambled to her feet, Buffy ordered, "Don't let her go anywhere," before hopping over the bandstand and rushing over to the club's entrance.  Just a few feet away, however, she stopped, her heart in her throat, as she saw the blond bouncer's slumped form against the jamb, the blood smearing the wall where he'd slid down it.  He was still conscious, but the pain he was experiencing was obvious from the grimace on his face, and the Slayer felt an uncharacteristic flash of fear that something could seriously be wrong with him.  Right, she scolded herself.  He's a vampire, remember?  Unless it was a wooden bullet, he'll be perfectly fine.

As she knelt beside him, Spike's blue gaze drifted to her face.  "Well, I'd say it's been a crackin' day for both of us," he commented dryly, wincing slightly as she pulled at the sleeve of his jacket, ripping it from the shoulder seam and exposing the crimson stain on his white shirt.  

Buffy exhaled loudly as she tore away the remaining fabric and saw the scarlet trail left by the bullet where it had grazed his arm.  "You're just lucky she's a lousy shot," she replied, then glanced up at the stain running down the wall.  "You know, you bleed an awful lot for a vampire."

He was about to respond when she saw his eyes dart to over her shoulder, his lips thin as they pressed together.  Turning around, Buffy saw the lumbering form of Lombardi shove his way through the throng.

"What the hell happened here?" he thundered, then stopped, paling slightly as he saw the blood staining both his bouncer and Buffy's clothes.  

"Go ask Annie Oakley over there," the Slayer responded, nodding toward the approaching forms of Tony and Pauline.  

"And where's Gino?" Lombardi demanded.  "That boy always disappears when he's most needed."  He took a step closer to the pair on the floor, the lines between his watery blue eyes softening.  "How is it?"

"Just a flesh wound," Buffy said.  "It looks worse than it actually is."

The boss sighed.  "Well, someone better get him over to the hospital, get a doc to patch him up.  I can't afford to have him out of commission too long."

Spike tensed under the young woman's hand, and she squeezed his arm slightly in reassurance.  No matter what, she had to make sure he didn't get seen by a doctor; somehow, she didn't think she was going to be able to explain away the blond vampire's lack of a pulse or his somewhat below-average body temperature.  "You sure you want to do that?" she asked the older man.  "They're going to want to call the cops, 'cause you know, gun wound.  And then they'll come around here asking questions…"  She bit her lip, hoping it was enough to convince him not to follow through on the idea.  When she saw the doubt begin to creep into his face, she plunged onward.  "Let me take Spike home.  All he needs is a good dressing and some TLC.  I can take care of that."

There were a couple snickers among the crowd as she said the last, but she ignored them, concentrating on Lombardi.  "All right," he finally said.  "Get him---."  He cut himself off as the bulky form of his other bouncer emerged from the back of the club, the unconscious Willow in his arms.  "And what the hell is this?" he demanded, the fire back in his voice.

"I found her in the dressing room," Gino explained.  "Someone's cold-cocked her a good one.  I…can't get her to wake up."

As Lombardi shot Pauline a dirty look, she immediately averted her gaze, ducking her head to hide the shameful flush that colored her cheeks.  "This kind of shit is not rolling my dice," the boss muttered before turning to the crowd.  "Lola!" he shouted.  Buffy watched as a very tall, very thin strawberry blonde broke free from the throng.  "Go with Gino to the hospital," the boss instructed.  "Get her taken care of."

Jumping to her feet, the Slayer grabbed Lombardi's arm, pulling him around to look at her.  "Let me go, too."

He frowned.  "You gotta take Spike, remember?  Or does the phrase TLC not ring a bell in that pretty little head of yours?  Besides, Lola's her roommate.  She can give the hospital all the information they need about Red.  You'll just get in the way."  The older man turned and grabbed Pauline's arm, wrenching her free from Tony's grasp.  "And you," he menaced.  "I'm going to take care of you personally."

Buffy could only watch as Lombardi led the other woman away, the crowd thinning…stepping back.  As Gino stepped forward to leave, her hand reached out and grabbed his coat sleeve, looking up into his black eyes as she said, "Call me and let me know how she's doing, OK?"

The dark bouncer nodded, his face somber, and exited the club with Lola trailing after him.  

Buffy sighed, crouching again at Spike's side.  "OK, just for the record, I'm really starting to get annoyed with this place," she said as she hefted him to his feet, allowing him to lean against her in a semblance of need, even though she knew he was probably fine to walk by himself.  She turned, only to be met by Tony's worried features.

"Is he going to be OK?" the trumpet player asked.

The Slayer nodded.  "I think his ego is more hurt than he is," she commented.  "Big Bad Bouncer knocked over by an itty bitty---."

"Hey!" Spike interrupted.  "I'm standing right here."

"I can't believe…" Tony murmured, then cut himself off, clearing his throat, leaning forward so that his words couldn't be overheard by any of the others.  "You've got to be careful," he warned.  "This place…anything can happen…"

"I think we're beginning to see that.  Although watching one of our presents go crawling off on its own accord was kind of funny, in a warped and twisted kind of way."  She shrugged at the musician's confused frown.  "Someone sent me a scorpion as an engagement gift.  Probably Miss Psycho who took a shot at Spike."

"Wow," Tony breathed.  "I can't believe how fast it's started for you two…"    "How fast what's started?" Buffy asked, tilting her head questioningly.

Before he could reply, the conductor came up behind Tony, clapping his hand down on his shoulder.  "Back in the pit," he said.  "We still gotta play."

As the two musicians walked back to the bandstand, Spike snorted in derision.  "Knew I didn't like the wanker," he muttered.  "Bastard knows something and isn't sharin'."

Although she didn't voice it, the young woman couldn't help but agree with the blond vampire's assessment.  The thoughts collided with each other in her head, struggling for dominance as she carefully led Spike out to the waiting car.  Amidst the jumble, however, one kept jumping out, forcing itself to the forefront with a chilling vengeance.

Anyone with more information than she had could not be taken lightly…

To be continued in Chapter 11:  Someone to Watch Over Me…           


	11. Someone to Watch Over Me

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  A spurned lover has tried unsuccessfully to shoot Spike, after having knocked out Willow in the dressing room.  Buffy has taken the vampire home to dress his wound, while Gino has taken the young witch to the hospital.

*************

She looked so tiny in the over-sized hospital bed, the harshness of her make-up a stark contrast to her pale skin, almost making her look like a child too eager to grow up and play with her mother's things.  Against the white of her pillow, her red hair seemed to burn, and Gino felt that all-consuming urge to reach out and stroke it away from her forehead.  He wouldn't, of course.  That kind of contact only happened in his dreams.

Lola was long gone, having given the doctors the information they wanted before disappearing to meet up with her new boyfriend.  It was up to Gino to give the medical personnel the details of Willow's attack---as near as he could figure it---and to try and explain his own presence without compromising her reputation.  He hadn't really fooled anyone; both of the nurses on the ward saw his awkward flush when the dark bouncer caught a glimpse of the young woman being stripped for a hospital gown, saw him quickly avert his gaze, only to steal glances out of the corners of his eyes.  It had been their suggestion he stay until she woke up, offering her a familiar face as the first thing she saw, perhaps allay any fears she might have upon waking in a strange environment.  He'd accepted it with a sheepish smile.

The chair he sat in at her side was too small for his large frame, his long legs spread out clumsily in front of him, hips wedged in between the narrow armrests.  He wanted to shift his weight, maybe ease some of the pressure on his powerful thighs, but he was terrified of disturbing her rest and so kept still, uncomfortable in his vigil, ever silent in his watch.

Over an hour passed like this before she finally stirred, a small moan escaping her slender throat as her lids fluttered open.  Immediately, Gino straightened.

Although the light was dimmed, it still felt as if the glow was cutting into her eyeballs, slicing into her pounding head, and Willow found herself blinking rapidly as she tried to adjust to it.  She didn't have to ask where she was; the acrid scent of antiseptic was a dead giveaway, and the young woman wondered briefly if the crazy girl from the closet had shot her.  Probably, she thought.  Knowing my dumb luck.

The large shape to her side caught her attention and as slowly as she could manage, she turned her head, green eyes widening slightly as she saw a solemn Gino wedged into a tiny chair.  "Hi," she said softly and was rewarded with a return smile.

"Hey," he replied.  There was a moment of awkward silence, before the dark bouncer added, "You need anything?  I can get the nurse to come in, maybe get you some water or something."

"Can they get me a new head?" she asked with a small smile.  "'Cause I think I've broken this one."

Gino chuckled.  Yeah, she was doing better; this was the Willow he knew.  "The doc says you'll be tip-top in no time," he said.  "They're just keeping you in overnight for…"  His voice trailed off as he sought to recall the word they'd used.

"Observation," Willow offered gently.

Gino's face creased with relief.  "Yeah, that's it."

"It's nice to know I'm not---."  Her green eyes went wide as saucers as the memories of her encounter in the closet came flooding back.  "Spike!" she exclaimed.  "That girl was going to shoot---."

"He's OK," the dark bouncer interrupted.  "Don't worry.  Buffy said he didn't need a hospital and took him back to their place."

Relaxing into her pillow, Willow bit her lip in an attempt to stem the questions that threatened to bubble forth.  Just go with what people say, Buffy had said.  But…living together?  And that woman with the gun, she'd been pretty clear about something going on between Spike and his new girlfriend.  What exactly had happened to the pair when they'd come through?

"Who's Oz?"

It was the last thing she expected to hear in her current state, and Willow's head whipped around to stare at her guest.  "What?" she breathed.

"Oz," Gino repeated, his black eyes downcast as he absently cracked his knuckles.  "When you were out of it…you mumbled the name.  He a…new boyfriend?"

"Oh.  No."  The tension eased from the redhead's face, only to be replaced by a lingering sorrow.  "Old boyfriend, actually."

"…You miss him."

"Sometimes."  When Gino's questioning gaze flickered up to meet hers, Willow colored slightly.  "OK, most of the time.  But it's like, I'm still trying to get my head around why he left, and how I could've been so blind that he could do…what he did…"

"Lemme guess.  He was a musician."

"Yeah, but that didn't have anything to do with…"  The young witch frowned.  "How'd you know that?"

Gino snorted.  "Because you dames are always falling for musicians, which I just don't get 'cause they're about as reliable as---."  He shook his head.  "Never mind.  None of my business."

"No, say what you mean.  After all, we're…"  Oh goddess, she thought, please let me be right about this.  "…friends."

He seemed pleased by this admission on her part, half-smiling, ducking his head as one of his paws of a hand ran through his closely-shorn hair.  "Still none of my business," he said.  "Although, I gotta say, this Oz was a real palooka to let a girl like you get away."

To be honest, Willow wasn't one hundred percent sure exactly what palooka meant, but from the dark man's context and inflection, somehow she suspected that her ex wouldn't be very flattered by it.  "What about the girl?" she asked, ready for a change in subject, anything to get away from thoughts of Oz and the pain of his betrayal.

"You mean Pauline?"

"Um, yeah, Pauline.  Is she going to go to jail for shooting Spike?"

Gino's laugh was more of a bark.  "You kidding?" he asked incredulous.  "Mr. Lombardi will probably just give her the gate.  No way does he want the cops crawling around the Sun.  They find out he's got pro skirts on the books, he'll get closed down faster than they could spit in your eye."  He sobered.  "And I'm glad Buffy talked him out of putting you on the roster with the rest of them.  You don't want that kind of mess in your life."

"You don't think it's better than selling cigarettes?"  Willow was confused.  How could dancing be so bad?

"No."  His reply was firm, almost adamant.  "Spike's definitely got the right idea.  Soon as Buffy said yes to getting hitched, he went in and demanded Mr. Lombardi take her off the active list.  He said, no way was he going to share his girl with anyone, even if it was her job.  Can't blame him really.  I don't think I'd be able to see straight if I thought my girl was sleeping with half the town."  

Her mouth made a tiny o as the truth of what she'd almost gotten herself into opened up in front of her like a book.  Memo to self, she thought.  Thank Buffy.

"Is it the money?" Gino was saying.  "'Cause, you know, I don't have much, but if you need a loan or something---."

"No, no," Willow assured him.  "That's sweet, but most definitely no.  You've just made the whole thing crystal clear for me and I promise, I will never ask to get put on the roster again."  And how, she added silently.

He desperately wanted to believe her---God, how he wanted to believe!---but Gino had heard this same promise before and still she'd almost been begging the boss for another shot just earlier tonight.  Although she certainly seemed sincere, the dark bouncer couldn't help but wonder what her true motivation for pulling active duty could be.  "I should probably be going," he said, struggling to pry himself from the chair and rise to his feet.  "Buffy wanted me to call her and let her know how you're doing.  Don't want to leave it too late, or she'll kill me for waking her up."  

The redhead watched as Gino picked up his coat from a hook by the door and slid it over his broad shoulders, the fabric straining tightly across his back as it clung to him like a second skin.  "I'll let the nurse know you're up," he said, not looking back, and Willow found herself wondering what she'd said that had driven him away.

"I'm glad you were here," she ventured as his hand touched the door knob.  "When I woke up?  I don't think you know how badly I needed to see a familiar face."

Gino paused, then glanced back at her, his dark gaze soft.  "Doc said if you were fine, you could go home in the morning," he offered.  "Lola's supposed to come by, but I think we both know she's not exactly the reliable-type.  If you want, I could…come instead…you know, pick up your stuff and bring it over…take you home if you get the green light."

She couldn't help the smile that lit up her face.  "Thanks.  I'd like that."  Willow watched him grin, his mood suddenly lifted, and sighed as he exited the room.  OK, having a really big guy with the disposition of a puppy who seemed to worship the ground you walked on was probably a good thing when you were stuck in a place where you didn't know what the hell was going on, or how in heck you were going to get home, or even where in the world you lived, and god, how she wished Buffy was here right now…

*************

Her voice was a golden murmur, floating in from the other room on a cloud of ether, and Spike glanced again at the closed door that separated them.  She'd been silent for most of their trip back to the apartment, although it was most definitely a different sort of silence from the previous evening.  This time, the vampire knew she'd gone into Slayer mode, dissecting the problem of Tony, Red's surprise appearance, and this new attack on his own person, with the diligence that had helped her survive so long in her calling.  Giles had trained his charge well; assess your opponent before you strike.  Too bad his instruction hadn't included how to deal with your emotions at the same time.

Buffy had been right in telling Lombardi it was only a flesh wound.  By the time they'd arrived at the apartment, Spike's healing capabilities had already started to kick in, and the injury had required only a simple dressing.  The Slayer's touch had been firm, but surprisingly gentle, and the blond vamp had found himself wishing for something just a little bit more.  However, after the events at the club, he wasn't holding his breath.  Not when she had other things to think about.  So when she'd wished him a quiet good-night and disappeared into her room, he'd taken the hint, retiring to his own bed, the adrenalin from the excitement only then starting to ebb.

Problem was…he wasn't tired.  The pain in his arm was mostly gone, and as he stared up at the ceiling, he found his gaze wandering around the room, catching on the whips on the wall…the chest on the floor…the swing in the corner.  His cock was at full attention, throbbing with an incessant rhythm that would've driven him mad at any other time, but now, with so many toys at his disposal, filled him an anxious anticipation.  No reason he couldn't get himself off, Spike thought.  Certainly got the tools for it.

Ignoring the obvious, the blond vampire instead chose to extract the box of scarves from the nightstand where he'd placed them earlier, having kept his promise to Buffy that he'd remove them from her sight.  The sudden image of her golden body spread-eagled against the black satin of his bed flashed across his mind's eye, and he'd had to force himself to hold back the growl that bubbled to his lips.  The phone had rung only moments earlier, so he knew she was just in the other room, speaking to whoever could be calling at such an hour, and the last thing he needed to do was draw attention to what was on his mind.

The rap at the door startled him from his reverie, and he glanced down with irritation at his hard-on.  Don't think Slayer will appreciate me lettin' her in lookin' like this, he thought, and grabbed the black robe draped over a nearby chair.  "Just a sec," Spike called out, belting himself closed, then realized that the satin actually did very little to hide his erection.  Fuck.  As the knob started to turn, the vamp leapt for the seat, settling himself into it just as Buffy stepped into the room.

"Which part of 'just a sec' was so hard to understand?" he groused, all the while drinking in her silk-clad shape.

"That was Gino," Buffy said, ignoring his comment.  "He says Willow's going to be fine.  He's going to go pick her up in the morning."  Her hazel eyes flickered to the box of scarves lying haphazardly on the floor before returning to the one still in Spike's hand.

"So what's Rupes' grand plan?" 

Buffy frowned.  "What're you talking about?"

"Well, Red's here so obviously it must have something to do with gettin' us back to the hellmouth, right?  Figure your Watcher's got some scheme that needs her on the inside."

She shook her head.  "It was an accident she came through," she explained.  "There's no great escape in the works.  She's just as stuck as we are."

Spike was surprised at the glee he felt hearing they weren't going back just yet.  Getting sucked into another dimension with someone who was supposed to be your enemy should've been hell, but, so far, this was _far from it.  Here, he had respect, a little power, and a gorgeous girl living just a few feet away from him.  OK, so someone had decided to take a shot at him tonight, but that wasn't any different to everyday existence in Sunnydale.  Shit, in some ways, it was even easier._

"Do I want to know why you have those out?" Buffy asked, nodding toward the scarves.

"Just because _you don't want to use them doesn't mean __I don't," Spike said, his lips curling suggestively._

"On your own?"  Her hazel eyes widened.  "Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose?"

He chuckled.  "Just a few hours ago, you didn't even know what their purpose was, Slayer."

"Well, I do now," Buffy proclaimed, arms folded across her breasts.  She glared down at him defiantly for a moment, before biting her lip.  "I think."

Running the silk over his hands, Spike tilted his head as his blue eyes darkened.  "Care to have a lesson?" 

"From you?  I don't think so."  But she didn't move, held her ground, holding her head even higher as she watched him tangle the scarf around his fingers.

Spike felt her pulse accelerate.  There was no mistaking her excitement, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if she had any idea how much it egged him on, expounding his own arousal until just looking at her made her seem outlined in red.  God, this is going to be even better than fighting her, he thought.

"It's not about the actual act, you know," he said casually.  "Doesn't have to be any penetration at all in fact."

For a split second, she faltered, frowning, before resuming her resolve face.  "You're just making that up," she argued.

Spike shook his head.  "Don't expect a Slayer could understand the finer points of foreplay.  After all, all you're concerned with is…makin' sure the stake gets stuck in, all good and proper-like."

Her cheeks burned.  "And here I always thought a vampire's idea of foreplay was, you know…grrr…argh…bite."

The azure of his eyes had darkened, pupils dilated as his excitement mounted.  "It's about trust, Buffy," he said, his voice a roll of faraway thunder over her skin.  "Or…don't you trust me?"

"About as far as I can throw you, Spike."

"Well," he drawled, "seein' as you're the Slayer, I'd say that was pretty damn far…wouldn't you?"  The blond vamp couldn't hide his amusement, his gaze dancing as it swept over her, daring her to come back with something even better, but not giving her the time to do it.  "It's not like I can actually hurt you now, not with this pesky little chip in my head, so don't see what you're so scared of."

"I'm not scared."  Her heart was pounding in her ears, a tympani staccato that echoed throughout her body.  She didn't understand her reaction to him---didn't want to---but really, there was no denying it.  Not this time.  "I'm not scared," she repeated.

"Prove it."

They squared off, blue eyes locked with hazel, each determined not to be the first to break, both silently daring the other to step up and face the consequences.  For a moment, Spike actually thought she was going to run for it, or worse, grab something unexpectedly wooden and put it to the use she knew best.  Instead, when her gaze darted rapidly to the bed, he realized…he'd won.

"And there's no penetration?" she asked, the doubt lingering in her voice.

"I give you my word," he promised.  "Although don't be surprised if you're beggin' for it by the time I'm done."

Buffy rolled her eyes.  "Don't flatter yourself, Spike."

"Don't need to," he drawled.  "Got a century of firsthand experience that tells me otherwise."  He watched as she stepped tentatively to the edge of the bed, looking down at the black sheets as she bit her lip.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked, her voice suddenly husky.  He could almost feel the anticipation dripping from it.

"Lie down," he instructed softly.  "Then…absolutely nothing…"

By concentrating, Spike had been able to diminish the hardness of his erection, not sending it completely away, but allowing it to relax enough so that he could stand up without poking out the front of his robe.  As casually as he could manage, the blond vampire scooped up the other scarves from the floor, doing his best to maintain an aura of nonchalance before the Slayer, deliberately keeping his gaze from where she'd lain back on the bed until he stood at her side.

Buffy watched as Spike made a quick knot around her wrist with one end of the scarf before looping its other around the headboard, drawing it tight, taut, pulling her arm up over her head so that it was comfortably outstretched, tightening the muscles that ran down her side.  He repeated the process with her other arm, then both legs, leaving her slightly spread-eagled, all the while humming some aimless tune under his breath, matching the rhythm that was vibrating over her own skin.

The blond vampire seemed so composed about what he was doing, fingers firm but somewhat distant, blue eyes unperturbed by the enormity of what he was doing to her.  "Not too tight there," he commented as he withdrew from the final knot.  "You want to, you can get out no problem."  He chuckled.  "Must admit though, I much prefer bein' on this end of the tying up for a change."  His fingers caught the tie of her robe, tugging at it gently, easing it from its bonds until the silk separated, slid to her side, exposing the long pink length of her gown underneath.

Buffy held her breath as Spike prowled around the edge of the bed, blue eyes intent on her shivering form, head slightly cocked as if assessing his next action.  "How much do you like the negligee, Slayer?" he queried, stopping at the foot of the mattress.

"There's six others just like it hanging in the closet," she replied breathlessly.

"Good."  Crawling onto the black sheets, he knelt between her legs, long fingers gathering the hem of the silk into his hands.  His sapphire gaze flickered up to her face, saw the flush growing in her cheeks, and his lips twisted into a smile as he jerked his hands apart, tearing the soft fabric of her nightgown in a single motion, baring the outlines of her curves to the cool bedroom air.

As the silk drifted to her sides, joining the robe that already lay there in disuse, Spike's mouth went suddenly dry, soaking in the shape of the Slayer lying prostrate before him.  She was exquisite.  The dreams…the fantasies…even the occasional glimpse of bare skin her skimpy clothing sometimes afforded him…none of it had prepared him for the reality of seeing Buffy's body in all its golden glory, a plethora of muscular curves making promises of power and passion as they lay taut against the mattress.

She watched his eyes begin to glitter, briefly wondering what the hell she'd gotten herself into before hastening to remind herself that the blond vampire was physically incapable of hurting her, not with that chip in his head.  You're safe, you're safe, you're safe, she chanted silently.  Stop being such a baby about this.

Her nipples had hardened into tiny buds, but both of them knew it wasn't the chill of the room that was the cause.  Nor could the temperature be blamed for the wetness beginning to seep down her thighs.  Spike inhaled deeply, savoring the scent as it tingled his tongue, and he edged backwards, off the bed, bare feet sinking into the carpet as he stood.  "You have any idea what that smell does to a vamp?" he murmured, stepping around the edge of the bed to her side.

"What…smell?" Buffy whispered.  

Her hazel eyes were riveted as he leaned over, one lean finger dancing along the moist skin of her inner thigh, drawing the digit back to his mouth, his tongue darting out to lap at the Slayer's musk that clung to his cold flesh.  "Not quite the ambrosia of blood," he elided, "but nectar nonetheless."

The realization sent shivers through Buffy's body.  All along, every time she'd been excited in his presence…he'd known, could…smell it on her…and for some reason, that thought only aroused her further.  "No…penetration…remember…" she whispered, eyes wide as he sauntered over to the dresser, pulling open the top drawers like he was looking for something specific.

"I remember," he replied.  He glanced back over his shoulder.  "As long as you do."  When Spike turned back, she saw the small vial in his hands, the clear liquid inside catching the dim light in the room.

"What's that for?" she asked as smoothly as she could manage.

The vampire just shook his head.  "It's about trust, or the whole thing's off."

Buffy bit her lip, holding back the words, helpless against her own desire to do anything but lie there and watch as returned to the foot of the bed, opening the vial and tipping out a few drops of its essence onto his palms.  As she watched him slowly…methodically…rub his hands together, spreading the liquid so that it coated every inch of his fingers, the young woman noticed for the first time the vampire's own arousal, his erection tenting the black satin of his robe, obvious testimony to his deeper involvement in this scenario than she'd originally thought.  Outside of seeing me naked---ohmigod please don't let Giles find out about this---what can Spike possibly be getting from this? she wondered.

Her body jerked, pulling against the scarves, as he lightly grasped her bound foot, icy fingers trailing along its arch, kneading the pad of her heel with his thumb as his fingers splayed among her toes, stretching them…squeezing just enough to send shivers of anticipation along her legs.  Buffy's lids fluttered shut, breath quickening, her chest suddenly tight as the vampire abandoned her left foot for her right, repeating the quick massage in a moment of delicious delight before his hands left her body completely.

She waited…one breath…two…and the desperate thought that he wasn't going to continue forced her eyes open to stare at him looming at the end of the bed, his blue gaze heavy, tongue running along the edge of his teeth.  "That's not it," she said raggedly.

"It is if you keep askin' questions," Spike murmured.  "Do you want me to stop?  All you have to do is say so."

The electricity passed between them, sparks catching in the other's eyes, setting ablaze the pits each had hungering inside.  "No," Buffy finally breathed.  "Don't stop."

His weight settled on the mattress between her legs, his icy presence tantalizingly near yet miles away.  As the blond vampire resumed his erotic dance over her muscles, alternating his touch between light and heavy, molding her flesh beneath her fingers, the Slayer felt as if her legs had turned to jelly, melting into the bed, as much a part of her as far away.  Even when he added her thighs to his repertoire, she noticed how carefully he stayed away from her core, avoiding direct contact, not even allowing himself a casual brush.  Buffy couldn't help the moan that escaped her throat, her body betraying her as she lifted her hips from the bed, straining to reach his long fingers if he refused to come to her.

Spike chuckled.  He hadn't been lying when he'd said the scarves were about trust, but he'd left out the most important part…to him, at least.  Having her like this---bound before him, helpless against his onslaught---was more than an exercise in confidence; it was about power, and right now, the blond vamp had it in spades.  All he had to do was…

Her back arched, leaping from the bed, as she felt his thumb flick over her, sliding amidst her moisture, tracing a path down one side…up the other…before finishing its short journey back to its original spot.  Buffy hissed as she felt the ice disappear, and practically tore her hands free from the scarves as she shot upwards, fighting to sit before falling back onto the bed.  "You said…no penetration?" she rasped.

"And there wasn't," Spike answered coolly, his voice suddenly in her ear.  

Buffy's eyes shot open, breasts heaving as she turned to see the vamp at her side, his mouth inches from hers, eyes almost black with desire.  Before she could even think, she'd lunged forward, forcing her lips to his, devouring him with her tongue…her teeth…wishing against everything that was good and reasonable that he would just climb on top and fill the aching need in her center …join her in the swirl of desire that she knew encompassed him just as strongly as it did her.

As much as he wanted to grab her, Spike kept his hands to himself, returning her kiss with matching fervor, but refusing to allow her the release his touch would give.  Bugger that, he thought.  What about my release?  For a second, the question of who really had the power here flashed across his mind, but he shoved it away, at the same time breaking from her lips, standing back as the young woman collapsed against the mattress.

"I'm beginning…not to like…this game…" Buffy breathed.

"Is that what this is for you?" he demanded.  "A game?  Because if that's what the Slayer wants, I can most definitely play…"  His hands reached out, grabbed the torn silk of her gown, yanking it away to slide with a sensual burn across her back as he wrenched it free, leaving her completely exposed and bare on the bed…

To be continued in Chapter 12: Doin' What Comes Naturally…


	12. Doin' What Comes Naturally

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Only thing you need to know for this chapter is that Spike has Buffy tied to his bed…voluntarily, of course…

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  I just wanted to say to those who ended the last chapter thinking I was evil…I'm not, really… That chapter went on much longer than I'd originally planned and if I'd carried through the entire scene, it would've been twice as long as any other chapter, so I split it up at the most natural break I could find without losing too much flow.  Honest…

*************

Panic rose in her throat like bile, and Buffy couldn't help the sudden anxiety that twisted her gut, widening her hazel eyes as she stared up at Spike, his own gaze glittering sapphires as the muscles in his jaw twitched.  She'd seen that face before, had fought it more than once, witnessed its slide into demon as the vampire went in for the kill.  Shit, her mind raced, what the hell have I gotten myself into…As her right hand balled into a fist, the young woman twisted her upper body to look back over her shoulder, intent on the silk scarf that held her.

"…Don't…"  His lips were on her ear, tongue darting out to trace the inner curve, and she froze, watching his long hand reach over her body to grasp her wrist, staying her escape.  Buffy's eyes fluttered closed as Spike caught the lobe between his teeth, biting it gently, tugging with inexorable vigor, his shoulders lying across hers, pressing her back into the mattress with an exigent weight that answered her own ravenous need.  The whimper escaped her throat, and she felt his mouth follow its path down her neck.  So intent on his actions, she almost missed the blond vampire's second word.  "…Please…"

The Slayer turned her head, looking down at the platinum curls as he settled at his favorite spot at the base of her neck, sucking at the pulse-point he found there, the sharp point of his tongue tapping against her skin in time with the pounding inside her flesh.  He was…asking…?  That wasn't Spike's style; see what you want, take what you want…that was his modus operandi.  And he was the one who'd started all this; this was his game, not hers.

Oh, really?  There it was again, that little voice that had nagged Buffy ever since their faux engagement back in Sunnydale.  You didn't have to accept his dare.  All you had to do was walk out of the room.

Have I mentioned lately how much I hate you? the Slayer groused silently to her inner voice.  She watched as the blond vampire lifted his head and met her steady gaze.  Neither said a word; neither moved, frozen in their own tableau as the tacit accord passed between them.  Where the length of his arm snaked along hers, a line of fire burned its path to her breast, enflaming the young woman both on the inside and out.  They held that pose for seconds…

…a minute…

…then two…

…and languidly, Buffy's fingers relaxed…eased from the fist she'd made…stopped the struggle against her bonds.

Almost tenderly, Spike's head lowered yet again, his tongue running along the curve of her bottom lip, tracing her mouth with an animal grace before taking her lips with his.  To the casual onlooker, the kiss might've seemed almost chaste, so simple in its execution, his mouth lingering over hers as he sucked away her breath.  For the Slayer, it scalded, drenching her in waves of flame, and she felt an unquestionable loss when he pulled his body away.

The vampire's hands danced over her flesh, fingers tracing the curve of her breast before cupping it, his thumb flicking over the hardened nipple.  She gasped, only half-hearing his murmured, "Cor, Buffy, you are so beautiful."  

Time seemed to stop for the young woman, as the world became a cascade of icy tongues and feather fingertips, the blond vampire addressing every inch of her torso with cool precision, setting her skin ablaze while creeping lower…and lower.  She squirmed against the onslaught, hips writhing…thrusting…legs desperate to curl themselves around his powerful shoulders and pull him in.  "Spike…" she whispered, and felt his chuckle against her pelvis, a reverberating rumble that rippled into her bones.  

He was only inches away from her sex, the musk heady…dizzying…and Spike had to struggle to contain the demon within, its need acute.  Can't hurt, he intoned silently.  Mustn't hurt…but the bright flare of a faraway possibility beckoned to him, willing him to dare…and he almost smiled as he realized its potential.

Laying between her legs, the vampire felt his own arousal throb in rhythm with her heartbeat, and used the cadence as a guide as he opened her up before him.  He felt her stiffen with the tension, waiting…anticipating his next move…even going so far as to hold her breath.  Spike knew just how long to delay touching her, gauging his momentum from the erratic tempo emanating from her skin; the difficulty for him lay in controlling his own instincts to throw caution to the wind and fuck his promise of no penetration.  

Just before he knew he was going to lose her, the platinum-haired vamp inhaled sharply before pursing his lips, directing a sharp stream of icy air onto her heat.  She bucked, straining against the bonds, before he could push her hips back down, bracing her with his muscular forearms, locking her into place to prevent her from moving again.  

"What's the point of tying you down if you keep moving?" he taunted, his voice barely audible as he lowered his mouth to her inner thigh.  He wasn't expecting a response---didn't want one---and stopped her from doing so by nipping at the tender flesh where her leg merged with her hip.  

Her scent was overpowering and though he suspected he could go on like this for quite a while---teasing both her and him---the urge to devour her was growing with alarming haste, mounting within his skin like a pressure cooker.  No reason to wait, he thought.  As soon as his tongue darted out, though, he knew…he was lost.  

It was unlike anything she'd ever felt before.  Oh, sure, she'd fantasized about it; what girl wouldn't?  But her reality came down to two men, both only one-time occurrences, neither affording her the opportunity to extend her sexual repertoire beyond anything other than the normal copulation.  This, though…

Thrusting her hips forward, Buffy's gurgled cry filled the room, its desperation beckoning to him…begging him to fill her…damn if he hadn't been right…

When his mouth left her wetness, sliding to lap at the skin of her leg, she almost screamed in frustration, forcing the scarves so tight that they cut into her wrists and ankles, threatening to give within moments if she were to utilize her Slayer strength.  Spike's hand shot up, pressed her back down onto the bed, then reached for her breast as she shuddered in ecstasy.

Tiny, infinitesimal nibbles began dotting the flesh of her thigh, and the young woman began pushing back against the elusive strokes of his fingers, grinding against them as the nibbles became bites…

…the strokes more insistent…

...driving her over the edge as wave upon wave of pleasure rocketed through her body…

Recognizing his moment, Spike's eyes closed, his jaw dropping as the ridges appeared in his forehead, his fangs gently breaking the tender skin as he sucked and rode Buffy's orgasm...

Somewhere…deep within the recesses of her conscious…the Slayer felt the familiar sting of the vampire's bite, but trapped within the fetters of her climax, the pull only added to her pleasure…augmenting the waves washing over her….throwing her against a fiery wall before sucking her back into their depths…

He didn't need his own satisfaction…not now…not with the Slayer's blood seeping into his mouth, drowning him in memories of scarlet and pain as he lapped at the essence that was uniquely Buffy's.  As he felt the shudders wracking her body begin to lessen, he slowly retracted his teeth, easing back into his human mask, gold shifting to azure within a single blink.  In terms of days, it really hadn't been that long since Spike had fed on human blood, but somehow…it seemed an eternity since he'd supped on anything so potent…so intoxicating…Neither of the other Slayers he had killed had tasted like this, and while he would've sworn upon everything that was evil he'd drunk of the best, he knew now…that wasn't true…

Slowly, the room began to stop spinning for the young woman, and she blinked once…twice…the reality of what had just happened only then beginning to seep into her consciousness.  Oh god, she thought.  What the hell was that?  He'd…bitten her?  How was that possible?  But she knew, could answer that without even having to resort to listening to that annoying little voice.

It hadn't hurt.  Only pain in his victim set off Spike's chip.

She swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed in her throat.  He was still there; she could feel him hovering, could hear his skin slide across the satin sheet.  "You…lied," she said, her voice barely a breath.

"What?"  It wasn't what he was expecting…accusations, maybe…threats, most definitely…even silence.  But this calm, out-of-the-blue statement…he wasn't sure what to do with it.

"You said…no penetration."  Buffy's eyes closed, suddenly desperate not to see him.  "I think…biting…counts."

Spike eased himself off the foot of the bed, cinching his robe tighter around his waist.  What was he supposed to say?  He wasn't sorry about what he'd done; if she was expecting an apology, she'd be waiting forever, because it sure as hell wasn't going to happen.

"You know I should stake you."

For a brief second, the vampire felt fear grip his stomach, twisting the knife that already seemed embedded there, but just as quickly, it disappeared.  She'd said…_should, not __will.  _

Keeping his gaze averted, Spike reached for the scarf at the foot of the bed, undoing the knots in silence, sliding the silk from her ankle.  A ring of crimson encircled her flesh and before he could stay the instinct, the vampire had leaned over, running his cool mouth over the reddened skin, alleviating the slight burn by adding his tongue to the equation.  Buffy watched as he repeated the process on the other side, then stepped to the bedstead to free her bindings there as well.  "Will the bite…leave a scar?" she asked softly.

His face was stolid.  "Shouldn't," he replied, just as quietly.  "I was…careful."

With her hands now free, the Slayer pulled herself up into a sitting position, drawing up her legs to look down at her inner thigh.  He was right; the tiny scarlet pinpricks were barely there, and she knew there would be little evidence of his feeding once her healing capabilities kicked in.  "That's a relief," she said, almost with a smile.  "I think my puppy-bit-me excuse would be kind of…inappropriate for this one."  Quickly, Buffy closed her legs, drawing her knees up to her chest in an attempt to hide her nudity.  "I don't suppose…you'd let me borrow a shirt or something?" she asked, hesitatingly.

His cerulean gaze tilted his head as he glanced back at her, the tiny line between his heavy brows.  "You're…stayin'?"

"Don't you want me to?"

"Well, yeah."  He shook his head as if to clear it.  "Am I missin' somethin' here?  'Cause I could've sworn that this would be the point I'd be lyin' here in a bloody pulp."

Buffy shrugged.  "Well, if you want me to beat you up, I guess I can do it.  Have to tell you though, I'm kinda tired.  Won't be the best fight we've ever had."

Spike's jaw opened, closed with an audible click, then opened again. "I'm goin' to ask, and I'm probably goin' to regret it, but damned if I can suss it out.  What the hell is happenin' here?  You're the Slayer.  You're supposed to be all self-righteous and pissed off 'cause I took advantage of you.  Hell, I _drank from you, Buffy.  That should warrant at least a punch in the nose."_

"Because…"  She inhaled deeply, trying to steady her racing pulse.  Just say it, she thought.  Get it over with.  "…you didn't.  Take advantage of me, I mean.  I was asking for it."

He cocked his scarred eyebrow.  "You didn't ask for me to bite you."

"Well, technically, no, you're right.  But…"  She swallowed, ducking her head.  "…I was asking for _you, Spike.  I wanted __you.  I knew what I was getting myself into.  And it…didn't hurt.  So…no harm, no foul…right?"  She snuck a look at his confused face out of the corner of her hazel eyes.  "If it'll make you feel any better, you ever tell Giles what happened here, I'll stake you in a heartbeat, OK?"_

The vampire couldn't help the laughter that erupted from his lips.  Now _that was the Buffy he knew._

*************

She'd been lying about feeling tired.  Although the orgasm had been like nothing she'd ever experienced before, Buffy felt more alive than she'd felt in ages, her skin still tingling even now, half an hour after the fact.  Behind her, Spike curled against her back, his arm thrown protectively around her waist.  As she burrowed down into her pillow, the vampire growled, tightening his grip, his mouth coming to the back of her neck to nuzzle her hair.

"You're not sleeping," he murmured.

"Neither are you," she replied.

"I'm not the one who said I was knackered."

Buffy giggled.  "How did the English ever get knackered from tired?  What a stupid word."

"Bloody great word," Spike argued.  "Got a real bite to it."

"So sayeth the vampire."

"Listen, if you're not goin' to sleep…"  She felt his his hand start to slide down her belly.  

Buffy slapped at his fingers.  "You had your chance.  You said you didn't need to…you know."

"And you said you wanted to sleep," the vamp laughed.  "You expect to tempt me like this and not make me want more?  Should just send you back to your own room.  Make you sleep on your own."

"You're the one who asked me to stay."

"And so the selective memory begins," Spike said.  "I only asked you to stay after you said you wanted to, pet."

"I can still go."  She almost cringed when his arm disappeared, and Buffy wondered for the millionth time since coming into the room when she'd starting caring about where the blond vampire was or what he was doing.  She'd shocked herself with her response to his earlier actions, but couldn't argue with how…_right it felt.  God, this has got to be a spell, she thought desperately, as she reached around and grabbed his hand, pulling it back around her waist, pressing herself back into him with a satisfied whimper.  That's the only thing that could explain this.  Magic…_

*************

He didn't get it.  She should've run; she should've staked his ass long before now.  There was no reason he should be lying here, holding a naked Slayer in his arms, sated with human blood for the first time in weeks, hoping against hope that morning would never come.  And, to top it all off, even after giving her the opportunity to leave, removing his hold from her glorious shape so that she could exit gracefully…she had chosen to physically replace his arm around her, to snuggle against him, to…stay.

Turning down her offer for his own release had almost been a simple choice.  Neither of them was ready for that kind of drastic change in their relationship; whether Buffy realized it or not, once that step was taken, there would be no going back.  Not that he wanted to at this point, but bugger if he was going to take that choice away from her now.  

It had happened.  He didn't know how.  He didn't know when.  He only knew…

...she walked into a room and he couldn't even think of looking at anyone else…

…he touched her and the itch to claim her as his own crawled over his skin…

…she turned those luminous hazel eyes to look at him and the world melted away…

…somewhere…somehow…

…Spike had fallen in love with Buffy Summers, the vampire slayer…

To be continued in Chapter 13: On the Sunny Side of the Street…


	13. On the Sunny Side of the Street

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Someone has tried unsuccessfully to shoot Spike, knocking out Willow in the process, while both Buffy and the blond vampire seem to think that Tony knows more than he's letting on.  Spike has realized, after having spent the night in the same bed with her, that he is in love with the Slayer.

*************

She was gone when he woke up.  Slumber had been heavy, a down-filled comforter cocooning him from the outside world, holding at bay the dreams that had been visiting his sleep for weeks now.  Now that he'd had the reality, had drunk at the well of the Slayer herself, the visions had been driven away, insubstantial ephemera frightened of the vibrance that was his golden Buffy.

Spike grimaced, closing his eyes as he mentally chastised himself.  Not yours, you pillock, he scolded.  Start thinkin' like that and you'll end up on the wrong end of her stake.  But the memory of her skin sheathed him in want, arousing him to pinnacles he'd have claimed were unattainable, calling forth feelings he'd thought dead and buried when Dru had deserted him.  It wasn't supposed to be about love; seducing the Slayer was supposed to be about fire…perhaps an engaging diversion while they sorted this painting mess…at the very most, a bit of fun to keep him distracted from the all too real desolation that had become his undead life.  Knowing that he was involved now, that he---fuck!---_cared about Buffy, didn't necessarily fill the blond vampire with joy._

Between the damn chip and being held a virtual prisoner at the Watcher's flat, his life was hard enough without having to add loving the Slayer into the equation.  How would she react to such a revelation?  The answer was swift.  Violently.  That's how she responded to everything major in her life.  Don't understand it, beat it up.  Spike had certainly been on the receiving end of her fist enough to know that.  

Yet…she wanted him, as much as he wanted her, if that was possible.  As much as she may wish to deny otherwise, Buffy couldn't renounce her own body, how it reacted to his presence, how he could make her writhe by merely touching her.  More than that, though…she hadn't run away afterward, had deliberately chosen to stay with him.  Perhaps the situation wasn't as bleak as he thought…

Snap out of it, Spike, he silently admonished.  Take what you got and be grateful for it.

Swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed, the vampire stood, stretching his arms overhead, his naked muscles gleaming in the dim light of the room.  He could hear no other sounds from the apartment, but grabbed his robe just in case, tying it around his waist as he strode to the door.

"Buffy?" he called once in the entrance.  Cocking his head, his ears strained for something…anything, but were met only with the echoing silence of the apartment and the soft patter of raindrops against the windows.  Must've already left for the hospital, he thought.  Good.  What he had in mind for his day would go a lot easier without having to worry about soft Slayer sensibilities gettin' in the way…

*************

The rain splashing into pools on the concrete filled the young woman with the overwhelming desire to take a running jump and land right in the middle of the nearest puddle, to feel the water spatter against her muscled calves, sprinkle against her cheeks as she lifted her face to the sky.  It wasn't as if it was even a pretty day; the showers had been continuous ever since she'd left the apartment, and the occasional flash of lightning had seemed to make Gino nervous as he drove slowly through the wide streets.  More than once, she'd had to stifle a giggle as a crack of thunder would cause the dark bouncer to jump, jerking the wheel ever so slightly as he struggled to maintain his composure.  She'd have to remember to tease him about it later.

No, the weather had absolutely nothing to do with her mood and Buffy knew it.  She'd woken feeling lighter than she'd felt in ages, all worries shoved aside, the residual joy from her unremembered dreams still lingering even after her shower.  Picking out her clothes, doing her hair, answering the door to Gino's knock…all of it had passed in a fuzzy cloud, and before she knew it, she'd been standing before the hospital, arguing with Spike's partner about why she wasn't going inside with him.  

"You're her friend," he'd said, frowning.  "She'll want to see you."

"And I'll see her when she comes out," she'd countered.  "Buffy doesn't do hospitals, and that's that."

And now she was waiting, hiding under the foyer's canopy, not even realizing she was humming under her breath.  When the doors opened behind her, she whirled, her skirts swishing around her legs, a huge smile splitting her face.  "Will!"

The redhead gasped as the Slayer threw her arms around the witch, squeezing her tight in spite of the constraints of the wheelchair.  "Buffy…" she rasped.  "Can't…breathe…"

Blushing, the blonde drew back, straightening as she glanced up at Gino's hulking form at the back of the chair.  "What's with the wheels?" she asked.

Willow stood, pulling her coat more tightly around her.  "Standard hospital procedure.  I'm fine."  Her hazel eyes turned firmly to the dark bouncer.  "Really."

Gino snorted.  "Stay here," he ordered, picking up the small bag she'd left sitting on the seat.  "I'll bring the car around."

The two women watched as he pulled his jacket up around his ears, shielding his dark hair from the rain, flinching slightly as a distant roll of thunder rumbled through the air.  It was all Buffy could do not to laugh out loud as he ducked his head and began to run toward the parking lot.

"So what's the plan?" the Slayer asked.  "Did the doctor put you on bedrest or anything?"

"Yeah, I should be so lucky," Willow complained.  "Everything checks out a-ok.  I can go back to work tonight if I want."

"You don't sound too thrilled about that."

The redhead's eyes widened.  "Did you see the shoes I have to wear?" she complained.  "And the costume?  They make me all Betty Boop, except in Technicolor."

"It could be worse," Buffy chirped.  "You could be on the roster."

"Oh, goddess!"  Willow exclaimed.  "Thank you _so much for getting me out of that.  Gino told me what it was, and when I think I offered to give the boss a private demonstration…"  Her voice trailed off, face pale, and after a moment of remembering, she shuddered._

The Slayer laughed.  "See?  Cigarette girl equals goodness."  She patted her best friend's arm.  "I got lucky, too.  I got the big-bad-boyfriend card to play."

"Speaking of boyfriends…"  The young Wicca bit her lip.  "I've heard some…things, about you and Spike.  And I've had way too much time on my hands since I got here to be thinking about all the possibilities and permutations, so…you want to throw some wattage my direction so I can stop thinking the worst?"

"Out of curiosity, what's your worst?"

"You and Spike, married with two point four children, and a vampire dog running around your crypt."

"Is there any such thing?"

"What?"

"Vampire dogs.  'Cause, you know, I've been slaying for a while now, and I don't think I've ever seen one.  You don't think Giles is holding back, do you?"

"I don't…"  Willow frowned.  "Wait.  I say all that, and you pick up on the pooch?  Is there something you want to tell me, Buffy?"

The Slayer rolled her eyes.  "Don't worry.  There are no little bloodsuckers, I am not married to Spike, and I most definitely do not live in a crypt."  She paused, suddenly intent on gazing over the parking lot.  "We're just…engaged.  No big."

"What?  Are you kidding?  That's massive!"  She stopped.  "Is it another spell?"

"No," Buffy disclaimed.  "We both know it's a sham.  Remember how I said the painting creates this whole history for you when you come through?  That was just part of the baggage we inherited when we landed here in Wonderland."  Her lips curled into a mischievous smile.  "And speaking of history, have you figured out what the deal is with you and Gino yet?  Any sparkage I should know about?"

"Did you know he spent the entire night at the hospital?" Willow asked.  "He told me he was going, but he didn't.  He slept in the lobby in one of those little tiny chairs 'cause he didn't want me to know he was hanging around."

"How do you know that?"

"One of the nurses told me," she explained.  "And then when he came by this morning, he was all like, 'Wow, I got such a good night's sleep,' and being mister pretendo guy about the whole thing."

Buffy giggled.  "Willow and Gino, sitting in a tree," she sing-songed.

"It's not like that," the redhead argued, but her blush belied her denial.  Her eyes widened as they caught the car pull up to the curb.  "Sshhh!  He's coming.  And he doesn't know that I know, so don't let on that you know, OK?"

From the safety of the canopy, the two young women watched as the dark bouncer clambered out of the car, opening up a large black umbrella to shield himself from the rain as he hurried to where they stood.  "You jake for walking?" he asked Willow, his brow creased.

The redhead froze for a moment before Buffy leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Jake means OK."

"Oh, yeah," the Wicca breathed.  "Just fine."  Throwing a grateful glance back at her best friend, Willow followed Gino to the car under the tent of the umbrella.  Buffy couldn't help the smile when the duo bumped into each other as both reached for the door handle at the same time, the redhead finally stepping back to allow the bouncer to open it for her.  They were just too cute.

"How'd you know that?" Willow hissed as the Slayer slid into the backseat.

"You forget," she replied.  "I've had two days to pick up the lingo.  Watch this."  Buffy scooted forward, perching herself on the edge of the leather, arms draped over the front seat as Gino climbed behind the wheel.  "That dame who clipped Spike, is she in dutch with Lombardi?" she asked, flashing a proud smile back at her friend.

The bouncer nodded.  "He told me this morning he gave her the boot.  Good riddance to bad trash, I say.  Stupidest thing Spike ever did was get mixed up with her."

She was halfway in her seat when she stopped, turning a frowning hazel gaze back toward the front.  "What're you talking about?"  The sharp pang in her stomach seemed to shear her mood in half, and the urge to hit something suddenly overwhelmed her.

Gino glanced at her in his rearview mirror, before pulling away from the curb.  "You know," he said.  "Spike and Pauline's thing.  Before you two started up."

Willow grabbed Buffy's arm, pulling her back.  "This one, _I can help with," she murmured.  "I'll explain it later."_

As she leaned into the soft leather, the Slayer's irritation eased, but it didn't stop the questions from seeping into her consciousness.  What exactly had been going on between Spike and this other woman?  Especially since she now seemed like she wanted to kill him?  Had they been…lovers?  For some reason, that bugged her more than thinking someone was gunning for the blond vampire.  The possibility that he'd been fooling around with another of the dancers ate at her nerves, blackening her mood, until the only thing she could think was…I'm going to kill him.   

Willow saw the change come over her friend like a shade being drawn in a brightly lit room, and frowned.  If I didn't know better, she thought, I'd almost say she was…jealous…

"So how come you're not more wigged about this whole arrangement with Spike?" the redhead asked, her voice low enough so that Gino couldn't hear them.

Buffy shrugged.  "I don't know," she said evasively.  

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," came from the front.  Both young women looked forward.  "Mr. Lombardi told me to tell you two girls that you could have tonight off," he said.  "You know, 'cause Buffy's got Spike to take care of."

"But I'm fine," Willow said.  "Not that I'm saying I want to go to work, but there's nothing wrong with me so that I can't."

"Well…"  Gino's knuckles tightened around the steering wheel, white knobs against the ebony.  "He thinks…well, I told him…the doc said you needed another day off."  He glanced into his mirror.  "Resting won't do you any harm, Willow.  Take advantage of it."

"Oh.  Ummmm, OK.  Thank you…I guess."  She colored, squirming slightly as Buffy leaned over and pinched her playfully, the diversion of the bouncer's crush enough to distract her from thoughts of staking.

Gino cleared his throat.  "You know…" he started, and the Slayer could've sworn she saw the sweat start to bead on his forehead.  "Tonight's…my night off…I thought…maybe…"

The Slayer saw the panic rise in her friend's face and suppressed the chuckle.  Buffy to the rescue, she thought.  "Actually, Will's coming over to my place tonight," she offered, glancing at the redhead out of the corner of her eye.  "We're going to order in and she's going to tell me all about her vacation.  No slides, though."

"Oh."  His disappointment was obvious, almost as evident as the Wicca's relief.  

Now's the time for fun, Buffy thought, and cocked her head.  "Actually," she said, "why don't you come over, too?"  She refused to look over at Willow, and shook off the other girl's hand when the redhead grabbed her.  "You can keep Spike company while we talk girlie stuff.  You know how much he hates it when we start going on about clothes and make-up and such.  Plus, free food."

"You sure?"  He was questioning her invitation, but the hope lit up his face.  "I don't want to get in the way."

"I wouldn't offer if I wasn't sure," Buffy chirped.

"Then I'm there."  His black eyes caught Willow's, and he blushed.  "Thanks."

*************

OK, bloody stupid idea, Spike thought as he made a dash for the building's entrance, the thick coat draped over his head like that tatty blanket he'd had back in Sunnydale.  Although the cloud cover was a bonus, the incumbent sunlight was still there, and the blond vamp could feel the smoke begin to steam over his hair as he slid inside the front entry.  What I wouldn't do for that damn Gem of Ammara now…

A quick glance at the mailboxes told him what he needed to know, and he bounded up the stairs, grateful for the spot of exercise.  Yeah, he liked the respect his job afforded him, but it was definitely lacking in the mobility department.  And, outside of his little romps with Buffy---including the dancing---there had been very little physical exertion on his part since he'd gotten here.  Gonna have to change that, he thought grimly, as he stopped before the plain wooden door.

It opened within moments of his first sharp rap, and the blond vamp saw the musician's face fall as he realized who was there.  "Spike," Tony said, frowning behind his spectacles.  "didn't expect to see you up and around so fast."

"Gonna take more than a bullet to take me down," the vampire said dryly.  There was a moment of awkward silence.  "You just goin' to let me stand out here or are you goin' to invite me in?" he questioned.

"Oh, sorry."  The trumpet player stepped back, holding the door open wider.  "Come on in."

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Spike sauntered over the threshold.  First obstacle out of the way, he thought.

Tony looked past him, brown eyes darting up and down the hall.  "Where's Buffy?"

"Went to check on Red."  His blue gaze flickered over the tiny apartment, taking in the sparse furnishings, the music stand propped up in the corner.  He waited until he heard the click of the door behind him before turning to stare at the other man.  "But we don't need her…do we…"

Tony swallowed.  "Can I get you…something to drink?" he asked, stepping hurriedly for the kitchen, jerking to a stop when Spike suddenly appeared in front him, eyes glittering.  

"That's not what I'm here for," he growled.  "Let's just stop with the games, shall we?  'Cause you have got to be the daftest thrall I've ever had the displeasure to meet."

The vampire was rewarded with the musician's quick pall, Tony's mouth opening and closing like a fish as he gulped at the air.  "What're you…I don't…" he struggled, and Spike rolled his eyes.

"Do us both a favor, mate, and save the innocent me act for the birds who fall for it, 'kay?"  Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, slipping one between his lips as he went digging for his lighter.  "I know a thrall when I see one.  And I don't plan on leavin' here until we've had ourselves a little chat."

Tony stiffened, raising his chin in some semblance of defiance.  "And why should I do anything you say?  You're not so tough.  I haven't seen you hit one guy since you came through the painting."

Spike raised his head, and curled his lips into a smirk.  "My fists aren't what you should be worried about," he commented, and welcomed his demon, cerulean eyes shifting to gold, his fangs extending into a deadly smile…

To be continued in Chapter 14: Put Me to the Test…


	14. Put Me to the Test

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has invited Gino over for the night, while Spike has sought out Tony to have a little chat…

*************

The musician flinched, coughing slightly, as Spike blew the cigarette smoke into his face, a hazy cloud now separating him from the deadly golden eyes.  "If you ask me," he drawled, glancing down over the other man's slightly dishevelled appearance, "I just don't get the appeal.  I mean, you even had Buffy for a bit there.  'Course, she's got a tendency to go all blinkered when it comes to blokes who play the Mr. Sensitivity card, but still…"  When Tony's body tensed, turning ever so slightly to bolt, the vampire's arm shot out, blocking the path to the kitchenette without actually coming into contact with the musician.  "Didn't want to talk, shouldn't've invited me in," the blond said.  "And I'd lay good odds I'm just a bit faster than you."

"What do you want?" Tony croaked.

"Already said," Spike replied, taking a deep drag on his cigarette.  "We're goin' to have us a little chat."  Turning ever so slightly, the vampire tilted his head in the direction of the couch, allowing the trumpet player just enough room to squeeze past and settle himself into the threadbare cushions.  So far, so good, he thought.  Keep him scared and won't have to worry about this little chip problem.

"I'm not a thrall!"

His scarred eyebrow lifted.  "That mark of yours says otherwise," Spike commented.  "That's not a one-time suckjob.  You only get that kind of scar when someone's feedin' from you regular-like."

Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  "That still doesn't make me a thrall.  Melinda…loves me."

"Sounds like a thrall song to me.  I believe the next verse goes somethin' along the lines of how she's your world, how you'd do anything for her---."

"Oh, god no!"  The musician's denunciation was vehement, two bright spots of red showing up in his pale cheeks.  

Spike tilted his head, his lips curling in amusement.  "Well, this just got more interestin'," he said.  "This Melinda…she tie you up…torture you…force you to be her little blood buddy?"

"Actually…"  Tony ducked his head under the vampire's azure gaze.  "…we were high school sweethearts---."

Grimacing, Spike held up his hand, cutting off the musician in mid-sentence.  "Got it.  You can stop right there.  I'm not interested in hearing the lovey-dovey crap."

"Then why are you here?"

"'Cause as much as I love Buffy doin' the whole Florence Nightingale gig, I'm not really so fond of thinkin' somethin's going to muck up our little arrangement, you know, by _killing her.  So, dish the dirt, Tone.  You know what's goin' on in Oz here, and you're goin' to tell me, or I'm goin' to have me a tasty little treat for my afternoon tea."  He made a sucking sound through his teeth, golden eyes glittering, enjoying the other man's discomfiture.  "Hope you've got some biscuits on hand.  Nothin' I like more than a bick with my blood."_

"I don't know…much…" Tony managed, swallowing hard as he tried to tear his spectacled gaze away from the vampire's glistening fangs.

"Not much is more than what Buffy and I got.  Fess up."

The trumpet player cleared his throat.  "Accidents."  The single word was almost inaudible, a hoarse whisper echoing in the tiny lounge.  "People who come through the painting…seem to have…accidents…"

"Like gettin' shot."

Tony nodded.  "Or the…scorpion Buffy mentioned.  One guy came through, I saw him get run down in the street right in front of the club."

"That could've happened to anyone.  Doesn't mean anything."

"Things have been happening to me, too."  His admission seemed forced and the musician finally found the strength to tear his gaze away from the blond vampire.  "Not until recently, but they've been happening.  I've been pretty lucky so far, though.  Nothing too life-threatening."  He glanced up.  "And your friend, the redhead?  She gets knocked out on her first night here?  You don't think that's just a little too coincidental?"

There was more to it than the musician was telling, but Spike could tell that the other man honestly believed what he'd already shared.  And, since the vamp wasn't too sure how far he could take this little demon-on-the-edge routine before he'd have to do some actual violence, he was sorely tempted to call it quits right then, take home his info and warn Buffy about keeping on her toes.  He wasn't too worried about himself; short of a well-placed wooden stake or an inopportune beheading, there was little the vampire had to fear.  Getting shot or run over might hurt like hell, but it wouldn't kill him, and that was the important thing.

"How'd you know Red came from the other side?" Spike queried.  "And how come you knew about me and Buffy not bein' from around here?"

"Because I've been here long enough to remember what it was like before you showed," Tony explained.  "One night, it was Gino.  The next, both of you were at the door.  The others might get their memories scrambled but I didn't.  I think if you're not from around here, you don't get affected in the same way by new arrivals.  I didn't know about Buffy until the party; I don't pay too much attention to the dancers.  But the redhead, well, her entrance was a little more...noticeable."

Spike let his game face slide away, digesting this last bit of information.  There was more, but without Buffy's fists, getting it would be nigh impossible.    The trumpet player was already starting to regain some of his composure, straightening in his seat, raising his head to stare down the vampire.  

Taking one last drag on his cigarette, Spike dropped it into the half-full cup of coffee on a nearby table, hearing the butt sizzle as it was extinguished.  "I'd say you're feeding me a line of cack," he said casually, "but somehow, I don't think even you'd be stupid enough to lie to a vamp, not after your little tete-a-tete with…what'd you say her name was?"

"…Melinda…"

Spike shrugged.  "If I were her, I'd be feeling like a right git for choosing you as a thrall---."

"For the last time---."

"Yeah, yeah, not a thrall.  I've heard it."  He turned, walked over to the door.  "Don't be thinkin' we're through here, bugle boy.  I'm sure Buffy's goin' to have some questions of her own for you."

Tony laughed in spite of himself.  "Buffy?  She's just a girl.  I think I can take care of myself around a girl."

His hand hovered over the doorknob as the blond vampire glanced back at the musician out of the corner of his eye.  "Really?  That Melinda of yours ever tell you about the Slayer?"  He smiled when Tony blanched and pushed the door open.  "See you at the Sun," he called back, as he sauntered down the hallway.  Nothin' like a little power to put a bloke on top of the world.

*************

"I feel bloody ridiculous," Spike grumbled, his brows knitted thunderously together, as Buffy tightened the sling around his neck, yanking with unnecessary vigor against the fabric so that it burned against his skin.  "Hey!" he yelled, jumping away and rubbing at his nape with his free hand.  "I can think of better ways to pay me back for our little adventure last night, if that's what got your knickers in such a twist."  

He watched as she marched to the open bathroom door, the first aid kit held tightly within whitened knuckles, her head held high, nostrils flaring as she fought to keep her temper in check.  The blond vampire had barely beaten her back to the apartment, and though she seemed fine whenever she spoke to Red, he couldn't help but notice how short Buffy was when she addressed him, clipping her words with an icy precision, hazel eyes shooting sparks that would've ignited his cold flesh had they taken physical form.

"You want to be the one to explain to Gino how you can get shot one night and be perfectly fine the next, you be my guest," the Slayer barked from the bath.

"And what's that all about?" the vamp demanded, stepping into the doorway to watch her struggle with a load of towels that had fallen from the cupboard.  "Since when are we the entertainin' types?  I would've thought you'd want to maintain as low a profile as possible, stay away from the locals when we didn't have to."

"I thought you liked Gino."

"I do, but---."

"So I thought you might want some company.  Pardon me for trying to be considerate."  She slammed the door shut on the closet and found herself facing a resolute vampire blocking the entrance.  "What?" she demanded.

"You just goin' to throw a wobbler, or are you actually goin' to tell me what's gotten you so pissed off?  'Cause I'm not a big fan of the whole slammin' door scene if I'm not the one doin' the slammin'."

Buffy glared at him, the adrenalin surging through her veins, drinking in his chiselled cheekbones, the sapphire eyes.  It had been gnawing at her ever since the car ride, but did she have the nerve to bring it up?  What could he possibly have to say about it?  And why did she care so much about he thought anyway?  What the hell, she thought wildly.  It's only Spike.

"What's the deal with Pauline?" she demanded, folding her arms over her chest.

"What?"  He frowned.  "Who the hell is Pauline?"

"The woman who shot you.  You were messing around with her."

"And when was I supposed to be doin' that?" Spike asked.  "When I was teachin' you how to dance?  Or maybe when I was savin' you from that scorpion?  'Cause I'd like to know---."  He stopped, cocking his head as his blue eyes narrowed.  "You're jealous."

She stopped.  "I'm…what?  No."

"Then what do you call gettin' so hot and bothered by me doin' some bird at the club?  Especially when I didn't."

"But you did," she argued.  "You broke her heart.  She told Willow you dumped her---."

"When?  Before we got here?  Oh, that's rich.  Now I'm havin' to take blame for stuff I didn't even do."  The vampire's gaze was incredulous.  "You don't see me taking the ump because you've fucked half the town---."

"Because I didn't!"

"Really?"  Spike lifted his eyebrows.  "That's not what everyone at work thinks---."  

He didn't see it until it was too late.  The blood spurted from his nose as her fist connected with it, and his arm jerked from the makeshift sling, his hands coming up to catch the scarlet fluid.  "Truth's supposed to hurt you, not me," he growled, pinching his nostrils.  

"Don't go calling me a ho then."

"I didn't.  I was just tryin' to make a point.  Obviously, not very well."  The vamp stared down at her, sniffing to stop the bleeding, jaw locked as his mind raged.  He should've known better than to think their truce would last; Buffy handled reality about as well as she managed her lovelife.  Badly.

There was a moment of silence, each doing his or her best to stare down the other, before the young woman grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the toilet.  "Sit," she ordered, and went back to the closet she'd put the first aid kit.

"So why does it bug you so much?" Spike asked, his voice low, watching as she pulled out a wash cloth and crossed to the sink.

Her response was almost drowned out by the running water.  "I don't know."  With the dexterity of years of practice, Buffy wrung out the cloth and stepped in front of the blond vamp, tilting his head with her free hand before dabbing at the blood on his face.  "You think I like feeling like this, you're crazy.  I was having a great day until Gino told me…"  She was looking every place she could without having to meet his gaze, the steadiness she knew she'd find there too much for her to handle at the moment.  

He didn't need to hear her say it.  Spike knew the truth, could see the pain etched in her fine features, and felt a strange spark flare deep within him.  "What was so great 'bout your day?" he asked, struggling for some sense of normalcy.

Buffy shrugged.  "Woke up in a good mood," she said simply.  But those six syllables carried more import than she intended.  The Slayer heard how they sounded as they drifted from her mouth to his ears, and she stepped back before it overwhelmed her.  "Willow's going to be wondering what happened to us," she said, and turning on her heel, walked out of the room with a bemused blond watching her exit.

*************

When the rap came, the redhead glanced nervously from the front entrance to the still-closed bedroom door, and back to the entrance again.  She'd heard some faint yelling earlier, but everything had gone all quiet again, and Willow bit her lip as she wondered just what was going on, not for the millionth time since she'd shown up at the apartment.  Buffy had given her a quick tour, and though she'd been eager to show her around, the young witch had noticed how studiously she'd avoided detailing Spike's room, even going so far as to grab Will's hand when she reached for the door knob.  

"Not a good idea," the Slayer had said.  "He hates it when people go through his stuff."

The knock came again, and the redhead rose to her feet, wobbling slightly on the narrow heels as she walked to the front door.  There was only one person who could be on the other side of it, and as much as she kinda sorta liked the guy, the last thing Willow wanted to be dealing with right now was…

"Hi, Gino," she said, smiling gamely as she held open the door.  

It was the first time she'd seen him not in a suit, and her hazel eyes widened slightly as he stepped across the threshold, the stiff gabardine of his shirt brushing against her arm.  If it was at all possible, he seemed even bigger, looming over her like a hulking shadow.  Six-four, six-five easy, she thought irrationally as her gaze travelled up the length of him.  And about two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle.  Wow.

She blinked.  I did not just think that, she scolded herself.  There is no wow here, wowage is not good.  He's not even real, this is all just some magical world thingy and he's just a figment of someone's overactive imagination.  Except, for a second, it was her imagination that was overacting, sudden flashes of sweaty muscles sweeping her onto a soft mattress, covering her, pressing her back into the bed…

OK, stopping now, she thought.  Not productive and not helping in any way, shape, or form.  

Gino smiled, hovering near the edge of the living room, black eyes darting to look at Willow as she hung back by the door.  "I'm early, aren't I?" he said.  "I'm always early.  I get so nervous about being late for stuff that I end up going a hundred percent the other way and show up miles before I should've."

"Sometimes, early is good," the redhead reassured, taking a small step forward.  Oh goddess, that's encouraging him.  Can't do that.  Gotta be cool and distant.

"You're looking better," the bouncer commented, his gaze darting over her slender form.  "Must be the dress.  You always look great in green."

"Really?"  She couldn't help moving even closer, her face puzzled into a frown.  "I always thought it made my hair seem brighter, you know, too contrasty."

"So?  You got great hair.  I don't know why you keep trying to hide it.  I know at least a dozen dames who'd kill to have hair like yours."

In spite of her earlier conviction, Willow found herself blushing.  "You're just saying that."

His coloring mirrored her own.  "You know I don't do that.  Not with…"  But he couldn't finish the thought, letting it trail off until it hung in the room between them.

The pair stood there in awkward silence for a moment, each nervously avoiding the other's gaze, before Willow finally said, "You know, you can sit down if you want.  I'm sure Buffy and Spike will be out any minute."

Gino laughed, glancing over at the closed bedroom door.  "Yeah, right.  They're like rabbits, those two.  Can't keep their hands off each other.  If they're in there, we won't see them for hours yet."  He looked back at the redhead.  "Besides, I can't anyway.  You're not sitting yet."

She was saved from an embarrassed reply when the door opened and Buffy came sweeping into the room, a bandaged Spike strolling in after her.  Willow's eyes narrowed slightly as she saw the redness about his nose, the studied casualness about their manner.  That was the fight I heard, she thought.  Wonder what sparked this one.

"Right, now," the blond vampire was saying.  "Who's feelin' peckish?"

*************

Giles hung back and watched as Anya poured the black powder in a circle on his living room floor, being careful not to disturb the symbols they'd already spent hours transcribing from the books she'd brought with her.  "That's not going to stain, is it?" he asked, the line heavy between his brows.

"Oh, no," the young woman reassured.  "A little elbow grease, maybe some meths, it'll come right out."

At her side, Xander leaned in, whispering, "I thought you said---."

"Ssshh!" she hissed, then flashed a brilliant smile at the Watcher.  "Almost done here," she said, too brightly.

"Good."  It had been over three days since Buffy had gone missing, and, with each passing hour, Giles' anxiety about her safe return grew, filling him with black clouds of doubt.  Although he knew that---technically, at least---he wasn't her Watcher any longer, that didn't stop the concern over her well-being, the guilt about his own laxity in protecting her.  I should've been here, he silently scolded himself.  I could've stopped her.

Straightening, Anya stepped back to survey her work, scrutinizing it carefully while Xander set his jar down on the mantle.  "You missed a spot," she said, pointing to a small break on the far edge of the ebony ring.

The young man frowned.  "Where?" he said, leaning over to inspect it more closely.  "Don't tell me you're talking about this little itty bitty hole here?"

Anya sighed.  "That little itty bitty hole is big enough for H'roven to harpoon you like a whale," she replied.  "Fill it."

Although he didn't know what the big deal was, Xander did as he was told, wishing yet again that his girlfriend had been a little more forthcoming about what was in store for them.  Every time he'd brought it up, though, she'd buried him in more work.  And the last thing he wanted right now was to be told to go and wash more of those newt eyes.  Yuck.

The two men watched as Anya paced around the room, picking up various items before setting them back down again, inspecting the symbols a fourth and fifth time, correcting the placement of a tiny artefact that hung over the door.  "OK," she finally said.  "I think we're ready…"

To be continued in Chapter 15: Sentimental Journey…


	15. Sentimental Journey

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Anya, Xander, and Giles are about ready to summon H'roven, while Buffy has invited Gino over to the apartment for the evening.

*************

Buffy was the one who opened the first bottle.  When she'd emerged from the kitchen with the wine dangling from her fingers, a bright smile sharing its devilish twinkle with her dancing eyes, Spike cocked his eyebrow.

"Think that's a good idea, luv?" he'd queried, barely able to contain his amusement.

"What's the point of having the stuff if we don't drink it?" she'd retorted and flounced back into the kitchen.

Willow had followed her out of the room.  "I think Spike's right," the redhead had said, watching as Buffy pulled open drawer after drawer, on the hunt for a utensil to tackle the cork.  "Neither one of us have been shining examples of sobriety this semester, remember?"

The Slayer rolled her eyes.  "I don't think my brief stint as Cave Buffy or your one night of break-up blues at the Bronze makes us candidates for AA, Will."  She held up a corkscrew triumphantly.  "Besides, who ever got drunk on a single bottle of wine?"

That had been two hours ago.  Now, scattered amidst the various Chinese containers were four empty Merlot bottles while a fifth was in the process of being drained into Willow's glass.  When the redhead tipped the bottle up over her head, peering into its narrow neck to see inside it, Buffy couldn't suppress her giggles when a single drop of the scarlet liquid dripped directly into her friend's eye, causing her to begin blinking wildly in an attempt to clear her vision.

"We told you it was empty, Red," Spike commented, his own half-full glass resting on the wide arm of the chair in which he was lounging.

As Willow wiped at the red wine that ran down her cheek, the Slayer cocked her head.  "You look like one of those cheesy horror movies where they make the vamps cry tears of blood."  She swivelled, twisting her body so that she could look up at Spike, her arms resting on his knees.  "Why do they do that?  I mean, it's soooo unrealistic."

His azure gaze flicked to Gino.  "I don't know, luv," he replied, his voice wary.  "Why don't you ask them?"

"Well, I think you'd get offended," she said.  "I know it drives me around the bend when I see fight movies---."

"So who's still hungry?" Spike interrupted, his abrupt standing knocking the Slayer sideways.

"Hey!" the blonde cried out.

"No more for me," Gino announced.

"Me, neither," chimed in Willow.  "I am officially moo shu max'd."

"You knocked me over."  From her seat on the floor, a pouting Buffy shot daggers at the vamp hovering above her, her hand automatically reaching out for his.  "Help me up."

"Since when do you need my help, pet?"

"Since the room decided to go all swirly.  Now stop being such a jerk and help me."

From his vantage point on the couch, Gino watched the pair over the rim of his glass, his jealousy at the ease of their intimacy only barely concealed in his black eyes.  Things had been stiff at first, and it hadn't taken the bouncer that long to figure out that he'd arrived on the tail end of a fight, a real doozy of one if the slight swelling in Spike's nose was any indication.  Once the wine had started flowing, however, the tension had dissipated, each of the girls relaxing more and more, at one point even giving the guys an impromptu fashion show of what he assumed was every evening gown in Buffy's wardrobe.  Spike's attitude at his fiancee's advancing inebriation was more laid-back here than at the club; probably because he doesn't have to watch her fawn over anyone else, the dark bouncer thought.  He gets her all to himself.

Although there had been no overt displays, Gino couldn't help but notice how Spike found every opportunity he could to be touching the blonde beauty…playing with her hair as she sat between his legs on the floor…holding her wrist steady as she dished out the fried rice, long fingers absently stroking the back of her hand…even the tilt of his knee, pressing into her side, providing her just a little more support as she and Willow laughed and chatted.  So subtle was the contact, though, he doubted Buffy was even aware of it, lost in the kaleidoscope world she was weaving with her friend, oblivious to her partner's territorial claims.

Willow was the one who was surprising him.  He had seen her reaction to Buffy's invitation, knew she'd been skittish at his arrival, yet, ever since her second glass of wine, she'd become more and more animated, joining in her friend's girlish glee, erupting in more than one paroxysm of giggles, even going so far as to tease him about how he'd nearly run them off the road this morning after a particularly loud clap of thunder.  Gino didn't need to analyze it; all he cared was that the slender redhead wasn't in pain; she wasn't crying because of thoughts of her ex; and, most importantly, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

"I'm bored."

A now-standing Buffy turned to look at her friend, misjudging the rotation slightly and pitching sideways against Spike's sling.  "I hope you have some ideas about entertainment because we are in a tv-free zone here," the blonde said, straightening with the vampire's aid, her hip still casually brushing against his.

"We could play a game," Willow offered.

"A game."  Spike cocked his head.  "Don't particularly fancy a round of charades, Red---."

"Cards!"  Buffy's voice seemed too loud, even for the large living room, and when she turned to face the blond vamp, he found himself leaning back, hoping the added distance might ease the pressure on his eardrums.  "We have cards!  I saw them!  In your nightstand!"

"Wonder why…?" Spike started, only to stop almost as quickly.  "Right.  Never mind."

Willow scrambled to her feet.  "Well then, let's go get them," she said, and began weaving her way toward the vampire's closed door.

"No!"  In spite of her intoxication, the Slayer was still faster than the redhead, and almost leapt over the furniture to block her friend's path.  "I'll get them."

"Geez," the young witch muttered as Buffy slipped out of the room, "it's only a deck of cards."

*************

"So what are we going to play?" Buffy asked as the quartet settled around the coffee table, turning expectant eyes to each before finally settling on Spike.

He sighed.  "How 'bout poker?"

She grimaced.  "I was thinking more like Go Fish."

"Poker is good."  Buffy's surprised gaze colored Willow's cheeks, and she fidgeted on her cushion on the floor.  "Xander and I used to play for M&M's.  I'm the M&M queen."

Gino's quick agreement brought a slump to the blonde's shoulders.  "I always get outvoted," she whined.  

"Since we don't have M&M's, what're we going to play for?" Willow asked.

Buffy turned to Spike.  "This was your brilliant idea, you pick."

"Luv, last time I played was at Willy's, and I don't think you want to know what the ante was there."

Her face was blank for a moment, and then the possibilities began flooding through her head.  "Ewwwwww!"

"We could play…strip poker."

"Willow!"  Buffy's hazel eyes were wide with shock as she swivelled to stare at her best friend.

The vampire chuckled, straightening in his seat.  "Well, I think I just got a little more interested," he drawled.

"Spike!"  The Slayer's head shot back, shock hardening her voice.

"What?  It was Red's idea."  His lips curled into a smirk as Buffy grabbed her best friend's arm and pulled her to the other side of the room.  Although he kept his sapphire gaze averted, the drunken whispers of the two women cut through his vampiric hearing with clarity only bettered if he'd been standing right next to them.

"What're you doing?"

"What?"

"Strip poker?  What the hell is going through your head, Will?  I'm going to be naked faster than Xander can eat a jelly donut!"

"You won't be naked."

"Hello?  Strip means minus clothing.  And I suck at poker."

"But I don't.  I told you, I'm really good at this game.  And have you seen how big Gino is?"

Spike almost choked on his wine as he fought to suppress the laugh that threatened to erupt from his lips.  So Red had finally noticed the dark bouncer's attentions.  Well…good for her.  Even if it had taken getting drunk off her ass to get the nerve up, at least she wasn't moping about dogboy anymore.

"I don't care what you think you saw between me and Spike," Buffy was saying.

Shit.  What had he missed?

"Fine.  You pretend this won't be fun.  I'm going to see me some muscles."

"What happened to that girl who was scolding me this afternoon for not trying harder to get back to Sunnydale?"

"She's drunk, and she's lonely, and she's been sitting all night next to a really cute guy who smells amazing.  Aw, c'mon.  Have you taken the time to really smell Gino?  Oh, no, of course not.  Because you're too busy sniffing around Spike."

"Willow---."

"Go on, be a party pooper.  I'm going to play cards."

When the young witch plopped down at her place at the coffee table, she threw a dazzling smile to the waiting men.  "My deal," she perked, and reached for the cards as a thunderous Buffy slinked back to her seat.

Spike didn't need to look over at the Slayer to see her conflicting emotions; he could feel it in his skin.  The vibrations of her racing heartbeat set his nerve endings alive, suffusing his system like cocaine to an addict, thickening his arousal until even the baggy trousers he wore couldn't hide it without his moving.

As he shifted his weight, the blond vampire noted with satisfaction that the two young women weren't the only ones attuned to the smells of those surrounding them.  No, most definitely not.  For under the veil of spicy Chinese and rich red wine, there was the most distinct musky aroma, a scent he'd become only too intimate with less than twenty-fours before…

…the Slayer's own excitement…

*************

As she had promised, Willow won the first hand with a straight flush that seemed to come out of nowhere.  "Why don't we start slow," she'd said to Gino, a mischievous gleam in her too-bright eyes.  "Let me have your shoe."

When the dark bouncer had leaned over to slip off his loafer, however, the redhead had been on him like a shot, small hand grabbing his beefy one, stopping his motion.  "New rule," she'd announced as the flush crept up Gino's neck.  "Winner gets to do the disrobing personally."  And with that, she'd yanked off the shoe, tossing it casually aside before returning to her seat.

There was no hiding his smile this time, and Spike picked up the cards, shuffling as best he could with the makeshift sling still hampering his movement.  No way was he going to let this opportunity pass by.  Absolutely none.

*************

Five hands later, and Buffy was minus two silk stockings that had been Spike's _extreme pleasure to take off.  She'd grumbled at the first but when his free hand had slipped up her dress, expertly undoing the garter that held it in place, the blond vamp had slid his icy fingers around to her inner thigh, skating over the tiny bites that still marred her soft skin, brushing against the thick dampness of her underwear before sliding the stocking from her muscled calf.  Her hazel eyes had widened, and he'd seen her do the hard swallow thing, his own sapphire gaze resting for a moment on the hollow of her throat before settling back in his chair with the hosiery dangling from his fingers._

When he'd won the second time, Buffy hadn't even waited, merely leaned back onto her elbows and lifted her leg onto his lap, tiny toes pressing gently into his erection in a move reminiscent of their drunken car trip their first night here.

The kicker was Red.  She'd won the other three hands, had taken Gino's other shoe and a sock with a cheery smile.  This most recent win, though, when the dark-haired man had obediently stuck out his foot for her to remove his remaining sock, had produced merely a shake of her head.  "Nope.  Want the tie."

A very shocked Buffy and a very amused Spike had watched the young witch climb onto Gino's lap, straddling his powerful thighs as she began nimbly to untie the silk around his thick neck.  The bouncer hadn't moved, but Spike had seen his hand tighten around the armrest, knuckles so pale they looked as if they were going to pop through his skin.  He knew the man wanted more than anything to just grab the redhead and ravish her on the spot, but that wasn't what the blond vamp found so funny.  No, what amused him so was much more delicious, much more surprising…

Willow had cheated to win.

He didn't know how---magic, most likely---but Spike knew for a fact that he'd thrown the three of diamonds, only to see it show up a minute later in Red's second straight flush of the game.  He also knew why, even if he didn't understand it.  Hell, it was why he himself had cheated the second time, why he'd deliberately slipped aside the extra queen so that he could fill out his straight and get his hands on that second silk stocking of Buffy's.

But, in spite of how entertaining the vampire found the whole situation, a small niggle had started in his gut, something he was actually embarrassed to be feeling, but something he found increasingly difficult to ignore as he watched her tease the tie from Gino's collar.  This wasn't really Willow.  This was too much wine, too much insecurity about her own self-worth, and definitely too much loneliness, and as the most sober one of the group, Spike knew what he had to do, even if he felt disgustingly human by doing so.

"OK," he announced, rising to his feet.  "Game's over."

Willow turned wide green eyes toward the blond vamp, disappointment shining there like a beacon.  "No," she pouted, but slid off Gino's lap anyway, settling on the seat next to him, curling against his beefy side as if it was the most natural thing in the world.  After only a moment's hesitation, the bouncer's arm came down to rest gently across her shoulders.

Buffy stood up, weaving only slightly as she did so.  "Spike's right," she said.  "It's late.  We should call it a night."

"But I'm not tired," Willow argued, then almost immediately stifled a yawn.  She blushed.  "OK, maybe a little."

"Well, I know I'm beat," the Slayer said and casually picked up her hose from where they were draped over the chair.  The vampire watched as she strolled languorously to her bedroom, hips swaying gently beneath her skirt, stockings dragging along the floor behind her as they dangled from her hand.  When she reached the door, she stopped, hesitated, and then half-turned to gaze back at him.  "Aren't you coming to bed, Spike?"

The invitation was unexpected.  His cerulean eyes narrowed as he tried to read the soft planes of her face, searching for some hidden meaning behind her words that he might be missing.  "What about our guests?" he finally asked, his voice a distant throb, the unspoken query slicing right through it.

Buffy glanced over his shoulder and smiled.  "Somehow, I don't think they'll mind."

Looking back at the couch, Spike was greeted by the sleeping forms of Willow and Gino, her cheek resting against his burly chest, his on the top of her head.  If he'd been forced put words to it, the vamp would've said they looked almost…at peace.

She waited as he sauntered to her side, extracting his arm from the phony sling as he walked.  "How does it feel?" the young woman queried as she pushed the door open.

They both knew she wasn't really talking about his arm.  "Absolutely right as rain," Spike murmured, and followed her into the darkened room.

*************

As the chanting filled Giles' apartment, Xander tightened his grip on the crossbow, holding it steadily aimed toward the circle in spite of the adrenalin that was surging over his skin.  His eyes widened as the ebony powder ignited, and then---somehow---started to climb, growing taller and taller until finally the flames reached waist-high, creating a column inferno that suddenly consumed the now-too-small lounge in heat.  Beads of sweat burst out onto his forehead, and he heard the anxiety begin to creep into Anya's voice, shading her words in clouds of fear as she and Giles finished the summoning spell.

Within the confines of the circle, the air seemed to thicken…take form.  Xander felt his heart stop beating as the demon appeared, the scarlet-tipped spines that covered much of its body bristling from their own internal energies, catching and refracting the illumination from the fire so that thousands of little points of light scattered throughout the room.  Cool, the thought came to him unbidden.  Disco demon.

Although the Watcher's voice never stopped, Anya scrambled to her feet as H'roven appeared, small chin held high in a defiance she certainly didn't feel.  She and her boyfriend watched as the demon's beady red eyes darted about, adjusting to his new surroundings.

"Who dares to summon me?" he growled, then froze as his gaze settled on the young woman.  "Anyanka!"  

When the deadly needles seemed to erupt from the demon's flesh, Anya screamed, throwing her arms up and twisting sideways as if the sudden deflection off her skin would shield her from harm.  Before he could think, Xander's finger jerked, letting loose an arrow that whistled through the air, and he quickly reached into the bag at his side for another missile.

The young woman blinked, frozen in her position, then slowly lowered her undamaged arms to see the spines lying on the floor within the confines of the flames.  H'roven clutched at his shoulder, the arrow embedded there protruding slightly out his back.  "God, I hate these type of containment spells," Anya whined.  "It looks likes there's nothing there and totally freaks me out every time."

Giles glanced up at the new arrival, a movement not unnoticed by the ex-vengeance demon, and she held up a finger of warning to the older man.  "Don't stop chanting," she admonished.  "That's the only thing holding him in right now."

"You're lucky you've bound me so," the demon sneered.  "Otherwise, you would be dead right now, Anyanka."

"So…long time no see," she said lightly.

"Not.  Long.  Enough."

"C'mon, Anya," Xander prompted.  "We don't have all day."

The demon's eyes flickered to the young man and the weapon in his hands.  "Interesting company you're keeping these days," he said.  "Mortal men?  And he's not been…"  His eyes narrowed, and an evil smile turned his mouth into a snarl as his gaze returned to the girl.  "Do my eyes deceive me?" he queried.  "Where is your necklace, Anyanka?"

"This isn't about me," she replied evasively.  "This is about some information we need."

"So the vengeance demon is now human herself."  There was no mistaking the delight dripping from H'roven's voice.  "Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"

"Listen, you spiny bastard---."  The young woman's voice rose, a strident song of pain as she involuntarily stepped forward, closer to the column of fire.

"Anya!"  Xander's hand shot and grabbed his girlfriend's elbow, pulling her back.  "We've got a plan here.  Focus on the plan."

"Right.  Plan.  Focus.  Got it."  She took a deep breath.  "We summoned you here for a reason, H'roven.  We need to know some specifics about one of your pictures."

"Like I'd share anything with the bitch who turned me into this!" he spat.

"Oh, you'll share---."

"Ahn, what's he talking about?"

Glancing at the young man out of the corner of her eye, Anya slowly extracted her arm from his grasp, stepping slightly to the side while glaring at their captive.  "I told you I didn't want to do this.  You didn't want to listen to me."

"You…turned him into a…demon?"

"She stole my life!" H'roven growled.

"Hey!  Wasn't for me, you wouldn't have such a lucrative career!"

"And I wouldn't be confined to my cell either, now would I?"

The current and ex-demons stared at each other, fury and hatred passing between them like an electric current, while Xander's brown gaze darted between the two.  "OK, I think this little trip down memory lane is getting just a tad too bumpy here," he said.  "What say, we get back to the topic at hand?"

"I won't help you."

Anya's smile was tight, grim, and she reached for the small leather pouch that hung at her waist.  "I think you might," she said, pulling out a handful of the fine powder the sac held.  When the demon's eyes flared in fear, she laughed.  "You think I'm stupid enough to summon you here and not have some thalatic dust ready?  Tell us what we need to know, or you're going to be in more pain than if I forced you to eat your own entrails."

Xander blanched at the sudden image in his head, and watched as their hostage began pacing within the circle, tiny movements limited by the narrow diameter.  "What is it?" he finally snarled.

"That."  Anya pointed to the painting that was propped up on the couch, easy viewing from the circle, but far enough away to be safe.  

"You're stealing art now?  Very noble."

"We _found it," Anya stressed.  "And we need to know more about it."_

"Its owner will be quite distressed about having lost it," H'roven commented.  "She was very specific about its need when she purchased it from me."

"She?  Who is she?"

Xander wasn't even sure he could call the grimace on the demon's face a smile, as it replied, "I'm sorry.  Client confidentiality.  I'm sure you understand."

"What exactly does it do?" the young man demanded, his frustration at the interrogation's slow pace growing.  "Touchy feely with the artwork is bad, we know that.  But banishing someone to someplace like that doesn't seem like such awful punishment."

"It's very simple.  The portal gives whoever crosses it one of their greatest desires, and then, once they're happy, it rips it away from them, leaving the person broken and miserable and desperate for anything."

Anya tilted her head, her face softening as she digested this information.  "Huh," she said.  "I almost think I like that.  There's a certain…symmetry to it that appeals to me."  At Xander's startled look, she stiffened.  "In an ex-vengeance-y kind of way, of course."

The young man turned back to look at the demon.  "And that's it?  You just make them unhappy."

"Well, of course not," H'roven replied.  "I'd hardly be able to charge what I do if that was it."  There was a moment when the only sound in the room was Giles' continued chanting, the demon on the inside of the circle staring out at the pair who were quizzing him.  Finally, he sighed in exasperation.  "You go through the portal, you get what you want, it takes it away from you, and then…you get to die."

To be continued in Chapter 16:  Makin' Whoopee…


	16. Makin' Whoopee

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Gino and Willow have fallen asleep at Buffy and Spike's apartment, while Anya has successfully summoned H'roven, learning more of the painting's deadly qualities.

*************

The catch in Giles' voice as the demon's announcement hung in the air was enough to capture Anya's attention.  "Don't you dare stop!" she ordered.  "No matter what you hear him say!"

"They die?" Xander's incredulous gaze fixed on the young woman.  "You didn't say anything about death being involved."

"That's because I didn't know!"  She glared at H'roven.  "You are one sick puppy, you know that?"

"There was a time when you would've rejoiced in my genius, Anyanka.  Mortality has tempered you."

"You want tempered?"  Her nostrils flared, the edge of her anger barely reined.  "I can give you tempered."  The flick of her wrist surprised them all, the dust scattering through the flames as it left her fingertips, settling on the captive's flesh in a fine pale layer.

The demon's scream tore the air, and the men watched in horrified fascination as he threw himself against the fire, ricocheting within the column, trying to stifle the pain searing his spines.  "You…bitch…" he snarled as he slowed, his crimson eyes glowing even brighter.

"Well, I'm sorry if hearing my friends are going to die just because of your little oil obsession, pisses me off," Anya retorted as evenly as she could.  "So unless you can tell me something that might actually be of some use to us, I think I might use this time to work through some of my anger issues."

As her hand slipped into the sac again, H'roven bristled.  "I never said they _had to die," he rushed.  "Just that that was the portal's ultimate intent."_

"Go on."

"There is…another feature to the paintings," the demon reluctantly offered.  "A safety feature, you could say.  In the event the owner should accidentally find him or herself pulled through the portal instead of the intended victim."

"Now we're getting somewhere," Xander commented.  "What is it?"

"It's not a what," H'roven replied.  "It's a who.  Someone on the other side of the portal chosen by the owner.  Not something I have anything to do with," he stressed.

"So…what?  You go up to this safety someone and say, sorry, don't like it here, let me go home?" asked Xander.  "Or is this a tap your heels together kind of place?"

The demon rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he glanced back at Anya.  "Humans have such narrow perspectives," he said.  "They lack our sense of destiny."

The armed young man regarded the steadiness of the gaze held between his girlfriend and their hostage, her eyes unblinking but unable to hide their disappointment.  "What's he talking about, Ahn?  Do you know what he means?"

"He means, a life for a life.  If you don't want to die, you have to kill the safety.  Isn't that right, H'roven?"

"I'd say it's nice to know that at least part of you remembers what it was like to be a demon," the captive snarled, "but that would be a lie."

"So who's the safety?" Xander demanded.

"Doesn't he listen?" the demon asked Anya before swivelling his head to look at the young man.  "I.  Don't.  Know.  The owner is responsible for marking him, not me.  Only Melinda knows whose death will reverse the portal of that particular painting, so if you're interested in getting your friends back, I suggest you go hunt her down instead and leave me and my work in peace."

"Melinda?  What's her last name?  Where does she live?"  An excited Xander stepped forward, brushing against the corner of the desk as he did so.  At the piece of furniture's center, a candle resting amidst a ring of small stones flickered, wobbling gently before one of the crystals fell over on its side, the tiny reverberation of its carved planes splitting the atmosphere of the room like a knife.

In a flash, the column was empty, the spined monster disappearing even as if he'd never been there, the flames licking up the containment spell to protect the trio from…nothing.

Anya whirled to face her boyfriend.  "How many times during the trial runs did I say, don't move?" she accused before glancing down Giles sitting on the floor.  "You can stop chanting now.  Xander lost our demon."

"He's rather…colourful, isn't he?" the Watcher commented as he rose to his feet, grimacing slightly as his knees popped.

"An asshole is more like it," she muttered, plopping down on the end of the couch, as far away from the painting as she could manage.  Leaning back, she rubbed tiredly at her eyes.  "But we're still alive.  That's always a good thing."

"And now we know how to get Buffy and Willow back," Giles added.  He stood before the picture, head tilted, chewing on the ends of his spectacles as he gazed down at it.  It was risky, but they had certainly faced harder.  It only meant overcoming his own fears and---.

"You're not seriously considering going in after them."  The disbelief in Anya's voice was only matched by that shining in her eyes.  "You'll die.  You need to know who the safety is first and even then, your chances of getting there in time are almost non-existent.  H'roven is very good at what he does.  That's why he can charge so much."

"We know the safety is marked," the Watcher replied. "And I can't imagine it would be so difficult to find, now that we know what we're looking for."

"Well, my part in this whole debacle is done."  The young woman rose and marched to the front door of the apartment.  "I got you your demon.  I am not going on some suicide mission on the slim chance that you'll get there in time."  With her hand on the doorknob, she looked back at the two men.  "Are you coming, Xander?"  No one moved, and she finally sighed in exasperation.  "Fine.  Be that way.  I hope you're very happy for that split second before you die."  And with that, she slammed the wooden door behind her.

*************

The click as the bedroom door eased shut resonated through the darkness, and Spike's hand lingered on the knob, eyes quickly adjusting to the change in light, nostrils flaring as Buffy's scent floated back to him on a red vanilla cloud.  She didn't wait for him, only strolled almost too leisurely to the edge of the window, pulling open the drapes to allow the moonlight to come streaming into the room.  It outlined her in silver, catching her golden tresses in an iridescent bath that washed him with desire, and the blond vampire could've sworn he saw a smile play on those delectable lips.

"I know someone whose life philosophy used to kind of bother me," she said, turning, slowly advancing toward his position at the door.  "But in hindsight, I'm beginning to think that maybe it might be appropriate..."  She stopped just inches before him.  "…under the right circumstances."

"And what would that be, luv?"

Reaching up, Buffy's index finger played with the button at the open neck of his shirt.  "It's very simple," she murmured, and traced a path downwards, no pressure under her touch, her hand skating over the cotton surface.

"Want…"  Her other hand met its mate at the waistband of his trousers, deftly unbuttoning the catch they found there before sliding the zipper down with an erotic whish.

"Take…"  He throbbed as the nearness of her heat offered a promise that sent shivers over his skin.  As she wrapped her fingers around him, Buffy squeezed strongly as her thumb swept over its tip, taking the fluid it found there along with it.

"Have…"  Without releasing her hold on his erection, Buffy used her free hand to shove the vampire back against the door, lunging forward to press her mouth to his, all sense of propriety or tenderness tossed aside in the wake of her passion.  The kiss was bruising, a ferocious attack that had nothing to do with gentility, little connected to rational thought.

This was an explosion of long-suppressed desires, fire and ice crashing…colliding…craving…animal instincts warring for control with sabered tongues as their weapons of choice…

This was hunger struggling to be sated, tasting…devouring…consuming the other while at the same time being consumed…

This was need…

Spike's hands came up, lean fingers entangling in the long locks of her hair, meeting her desire with his own as his tongue swept through her mouth.  He moaned, the world trying to tilt around him, and he fought back with his lips, biting at hers, almost chuckling out loud when the young woman matched him by biting back.

It was the rich undertones of the wine in her breath that finally yanked him from the brink.  Even as he kissed her, the blond vamp felt the door of doubt open, just a crack but open nonetheless, and the questions began to peep through.  In spite of his attempts to ignore them, they refused to leave, choosing to multiply instead, and it was with extreme reluctance that his hands lowered to her shoulders, pushed her away from their kiss, breaking the contact of her grip on his arousal, while holding her at arm's length.

In the shadows of the room, Buffy's eyes were fathomless.  "What is it?" she whispered.

"You're drunk," Spike said.  "And I don't want this 'til I know it's the Slayer doin' the asking, not the alcohol."

"But I'm not."  She shrugged his hands away, maintaining the distance between them.  "I'll cop a plea of guilty to being tipsy, but I'm not nearly as blotto as I was the other night.  Trust me, Spike.  I know what I'm doing here."

"Do you?  Do you really?"  He tilted his head, the moonlight bouncing off his azure eyes.  "If this happens, Buffy, everything changes.  There's no going back, pretending we didn't do it.  I won't…I can't…"  That was as much of an admission of his feelings the vampire would allow for now.  Yes, she'd been jealous of the stupid bint who'd taken a shot at him, and yes, there was no doubt about her wanting him physically, but until he was sure of some sort of reciprocity, there was no way in hell he was going to let her know how badly she'd gotten to him.

"Everything's already changed, and if you don't see that…maybe this isn't such a good idea after all."  She didn't move---couldn't move---could only watch him with her heart thumping in her throat.  She'd acted so stupidly earlier; her Spike hadn't done anything with that other dancer at the club and to think so…Her eyes widened, not even seeing him standing before her, the realization of what she'd just thought, how she'd just considered him, sending chilling tremors undulating down her spine.  She had not just referred to him as hers…had she?  Yet, there was no lying to herself this time, and she could hear the little voice's amused chuckle echoing from somewhere deep inside her head.

"Trust me, Spike," she repeated, and took a step towards him.

"Wait."  The velvet rumble of his voice held a note of command Buffy wasn't accustomed to hearing from the blond vampire, and she froze, her hazel gaze locked with his.  "I'm not done talkin' yet."  The young woman realized she was holding her breath and slowly exhaled, waiting.  "How many blokes have you been with?" he asked.

The question was the last she'd been expecting.  "What?" she asked, shock rolling off her in waves.  "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Everything."  It was all he could do to control himself, and leaned back against the door, hiding his hands behind him, hands balled into fists as he fought to remain composed  "How many?  Just the two?"  Her stunned silence was the only response he needed.  "I know how it was with…Angel…"  He had problems even saying the name, hating to bring him into this but knowing it was necessary.  "And I can pretty much guess what happened with Mr. College Boy Sensitivity, so if that's what you're expectin'…if that's what you _want here tonight, this stops now, and I open this door, and I spend the night in my bed.  Alone."_

"I don't understand…"

Spike gritted his teeth.  God, how he wanted to just forget the words, forget thinking so much, forget…everything.  But he couldn't, not now, not when they'd come so far… "I'm talkin' raindrops on roses, luv.  I'm talkin' bleedin' violins in the background.  Not that I can't do the soft touch, because it certainly has its place and time and I can appreciate that as much as the next bloke, but if you think that I can pull that tonight, you have no fucking clue what this is all about."  He couldn't hold back any longer, had to touch her, even if for just long enough for her to kick him out.  One hand stretched out, caressed the line of her jaw before stroking the satin of her neck.  

"If this happens, don't expect that I'll be able to hold back," he continued.  "It'll be raw…it'll be primal…and you _will scream.  Because once I start, Buffy, I won't be able to stop until I've consumed you, until…"  The words choked in his throat, and he was grateful that the cloak of darkness barred her from reading the truth he knew shone within his eyes.  It was bad enough he was saying as much as he was, but she had to understand what she was getting involved in.  It was the only way Spike could open himself up for what fucking the Slayer was going to do to his life._

His honesty ate at her insides, and the young woman swallowed hard as she reached up to grab his hand, pulling it away from her skin, pushing it back toward his own body, almost throwing it at his chest.  She saw the resignation flicker across his face before hardening into that familiar mask he wore for the public, and his shoulder started to turn toward the closed door, head already ducking.  "Right, then," he began to say, only to be jerked back to face her, the collar of his shirt caught within her thin fingers.

The ripping shattered the tension between them, and Spike growled as Buffy stepped back, his shirt dangling from her hand, the gleam unmistakeable in her eye. She ran when he leapt, diving for the bed, her laughter floating back to taunt him as he rolled onto the floor, shoulder hitting the corner of the bed as his trousers tangled around his ankles.

"Fuck," he muttered, and grabbed the cuffed hems to yank them free.  As they flew across the room, the vampire whipped his head around, spotting a crouched Slayer in the middle of the mattress.  "Games like that'll only make it harder on you," he warned, giving her one final chance to turn away.  God, he thought.  Please don't…

"That's the whole idea," she replied, peeling her blouse from her skin, smiling as he closed the gap between them.  

Strong hands grabbed her arms, yanking her upward, crushing her to his chest as his mouth descended, not to her lips but to her shoulder, biting it…dragging his teeth roughly across her skin as he bent her backwards, folding her in half against the mattress.  The Slayer's breathing was a hearty rasp, catching in her lungs with a serrated edge, ruffling against the platinum curls bowed against her arm.  She knew…could feel…the marks he was leaving in the wake of his hunger, the rivulets screaming their presence as they made contact with the cool air and his even cooler flesh, and revelled in how alive they made her feel. Yes, she thought as her eyes fluttered shut.  _My Spike…_

When Buffy's arms came up around his chiselled shoulders, the vampire tore his mouth away, reaching for her wrists with a feral languor that hypnotized the young woman, immobilizing her while he twisted her arms over her head, pinning them with strength only equalled by her own.  She could've thrown him off, but feeling his weight forcing her down into the bed sent an electrical relay sparking among her nerve endings, jumping from point to point to point, all within the space of a split second.  It was maddening…and thrilling…and intoxicating…all at the same time…

His free hand reached down, grabbed the edge of her skirt, and yanked, rending the fabric as it melted away from her hips.  The only thing separating them now was the thin satin of her underwear, and Spike chuckled as he hooked his thumb around the waistband…and pulled.

He may have stopped her arms, but there was no way the blond vamp could check the Slayer's powerful legs as they scissored around his hips.  Spike hissed as he felt her beneath him, tantalizingly near but physically incapable as she locked their lower bodies together.  

"You think that'll stop me?" he growled, and slid his hand around to her ass.

She gasped as an icy finger pressed against the opening, hazel eyes widening.  It was unlike anything she'd ever felt before, and the shock relaxed her thighs just enough for him to pull back…and to thrust forward, burying himself deep within her.

She screamed.  She couldn't help it.  Although Buffy had known what to expect, she had no way to anticipate how full it would make her feel, stretching her until she thought she would explode, freezing her insides while at the same time igniting her flesh in daggers of flame.

He silenced her with his mouth, bruising her lips as he savaged them with a hunger the vampire found unexpected.  

Each time he plunged, the force drove her into the mattress, surrounding her for a second in down before releasing her to the chill air as he pulled out…only to repeat the process…again…and again…and again…

The rhythm was maddening, never changing, never easing, building within her until she lost all sense of here, or now, or who she was, or where she ended, or where he began.  All that mattered was the man above her…

…the man within her…

…the man who clung to her in desperation as his own need swelled…

…swallowing her breath…

…encompassing her being…

…tasting her…

…consuming her…

…loving her…

…until it exploded…wave upon wave of pleasure shuddering through her body, creating a holocaust within her heart that threatened to leap from her chest, to ignite the vampire above and consume him as well.

As he felt her clench, Spike pulled himself away from her mouth, propping himself up on his hand so that he could gaze down at the golden beauty, her head thrown back in delirium, the fine lines of her throat a symphony of swelter.  Her mouth worked, and he almost missed the whispered word as she exhaled along the crest of her orgasm.

"…harder…"

It drove him over the edge of control, and the blond vampire pounded into her, each stroke deeper…more exquisite than the one before it, the kindle of her heat scorching him in painful pleasure…

…until it detonated, gushing deep within her center, drowning her in ice as he clung helplessly to her torso…

His mouth found hers again, but their earlier fervor was now replaced with a sucking need, gentle and tender in its exploration as his tempo slowed, coasted to an erratic beat, their bodies quivering in the aftermath.

"Spike…" she murmured, and opened her eyes to stare up into those sapphire depths.  All evidence of her intoxication from the wine was now banished from her system; her mind was clear, sharpened, and for the first time in ages, Buffy felt like she finally understood.  "No going back."

His face softened, almost smiling, and the tip of his tongue ran along her jaw to her ear.  "Never dream of it, luv," he whispered, and closed his eyes.

The night was only beginning…

To be continued in Chapter 17: It Had to Be You…


	17. It Had to Be You

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Giles has learned of a way to reverse the portal, while Buffy and Spike have finally consummated their relationship…

*************

This was her favorite time of night.  The moon, barely suspended over the edge of the horizon, glittered in a majestic chill as it invited itself into the room, creeping along the floor, climbing atop the bed to stroke her cheek in lustrous offering.  This was the hour during which everyone, including the monsters, slept, and Buffy could allow herself to finally relax, even for that split second before the inevitable always occurred.

Her body was a mass of conflicting sentiments, at once both more aching and sore than her most rabid workout, while at the same time lending her an excruciating indolence that left her in a dreamy haze.  If someone had told her just a week ago that such succor was possible, the Slayer would've laughed in their face, but now, with the reason for each mark, each bruise, each wondrous brand lying nestled behind her, his muscled arm thrown protectively around her waist, his still semi-hard cock cradled between her buttocks, she could no longer deny the truth he had shown her.

Spike slept, finally exhausting after their repeated couplings over the past few hours, and although Buffy had dozed intermittently, she was now wide-awake, staring out the window at the twinkling night sky, feeling every inch of her skin as it either burned or ached.  The vampire had been true to his word; nothing about their joining had been remotely delicate or gentle, each of their desperation feeding their passion's tinder so that they tore at each other with an even greater hunger every time they came together, riding their bodies hard and wet, drenching the sheets in sweat and just a little bit of blood.  Each bore the other's marks, totems of an impossible union proudly displayed for the other to relish, and the last thing Spike had done before drifting off into slumber was trail his tongue over her left breast, lapping at the blood that was already starting to dry along the bite he'd left there.

The Slayer was surprised that not once during their lovemaking had the vampire allowed his demon to emerge, holding it in check even as he came, or when the scent of her blood was so strong it even filled her own nostrils.  The bites she wore were caused by his human teeth, just as his were made by hers, and she regretted none of them…well, maybe the one on her ass, she thought ruefully.  That one kind of stung.  But she didn't know what that meant, why when it had been about their little game the previous night, he'd vamped out at the first hint of blood, but now, in spite of the intensity, the _fervor, he remained…Spike, the man…not Spike, the demon._

He was right, of course.  Everything _was changed, probably in ways even he didn't anticipate.  No more ignoring him---how could that even be possible now?---, no more ignoring her own heart.  Buffy didn't pretend to understand how, or why, or even really what, but her belief was overwhelming that if the blond vampire knew the truth, he would laugh at her, deride what she felt right before abandoning her.  That's what they all did; how could she think that he would be any different?_

No, he wouldn't know the truth; she'd hide it from him with her life if need be, and just enjoy what little time they'd have together.  There was no reason for him to know anyway; not once had Spike professed that this was anything more than some bottomless passion for him, a game to be played with the Slayer since he was now incapable of inflicting violence upon her.  If he wasn't willing to commit to anything more than a bit of fun, why should she be any different?

*************

He sat at the head of a long wooden table, empty Chinese containers strewn haphazardly about, red wine spilling from broken bottles onto the teak surface.  The others seemed oblivious to the licentiousness of the atmosphere; at the other end of the table, Willow was perched on the edge of the wooden top, a bowl of purple grapes bursting with juice in her lap, popping them one by one into a waiting Gino's mouth.  More closely at hand, a purring Buffy nestled into his naked shoulder, crimson-tipped nails tracing visible paths along his chest.

"Wanna play charades," the Slayer pouted, leaning in to nip at his ear.  "We never get to play what I want to."

"Don't be daft," he scolded.  "We've always played by your rules."

"Don't like the rules," she replied and sat up.  "Let's change them."

The redhead swivelled to gaze down at the blonde pair and Spike noticed for the first time the heavy make-up that streaked her tear-stained face.  "Just go ahead and let her," Willow said.  "She'll do whatever she wants anyway.  That's what the Slayer does.  It's part of her official job description."

"It's not!"

"It _so is.  But that's OK 'cause we'll just cheat, won't we, Spike?"_

His blue eyes darted between the two women, wondering why they were going on like this before getting distracted by the feel of Buffy grinding her ass into his lap.  His erection returned and she giggled.  

"My Spike doesn't need to cheat," she cooed.  "He wins all by his itty bitty lonesome."

"I'm still hungry," Willow whined, resuming her hand-feeding of the dark bouncer.

"Sorry, Red," the vamp said.  "No more Chinese.  The kitchen's closed."

Buffy's hand began to press more firmly into his bare chest.  "I know what we can have," she murmured.  Her fingers stopped over his left nipple, and the vampire glanced down as the tips of her nails began digging into his flesh.

They ripped through his skin, embedding themselves as the Slayer's fingers sunk deeper into the muscle, blood beginning to drip down the back of her hand as it reached…and dug…and excavated for its prize.  His sapphire eyes widened, shocked as the pain seared him from the inside out, arresting what few bodily functions he still had, as Buffy's hand curled around its treasure, squeezing, palpitating, beginning its outward path with infinitesimal power that submerged him in torturous agony.

The young woman's smile was triumphant as she pulled the muscle from his chest, the blood still clinging to it as she swivelled in his lap and rested the unbeating heart on the plate that suddenly appeared before her.  At the other end of the table, Willow looked up and pointed at the now-frozen vamp.

"Lookie," she said lightly.  "Buffy made the Big Bad cry.  I thought you said they only cried blood tears in the movies."

Laughing, Buffy picked up the knife and fork, poising them over the veined flesh that seemed to be shrivelling right before his gaze.  "So what's it going to be?" she asked.  "White meat?  Or red?  Spike?"  She glanced back at him over her shoulder, waiting for an answer.  "Spike…?"

*************

"…Spike!"

His lids shot open, and the blond vampire found himself staring up at a frowning Buffy, propped up on her elbow to peer down into the chiselled planes of his face, one hand gripping tightly to his shoulder.  Her dishevelled hair hung over her shoulder, the tips trailing across his chest, and the feather touch triggered his arm, shooting upward, brushing away her tresses as long fingers explored the smooth expanse of his skin.

Her hazel eyes flickered down, watching the frantic dance before her own hand released its hold on his flesh to trap his, halting his search.  "What's wrong?" she murmured, returning her gaze to the panic-stricken azure depths.

"A dream."  As the reality of his intact heart sank in, the tension eased from his carved body, and his platinum curls sunk back into the pillow.  "Just…a dream."

"A bad dream," she elucidated.  "You were…thrashing."

Spike's lids closed, blocking her from his vision, but still she remained, the dream Buffy replacing the real, that hungry smile mocking him, twisting into his chest as effectively as her tiny hand had.  No, easier to face the hard, and the vampire re-opened his eyes, wondering at the minuet of emotions that seemed to be fighting for control on the Slayer's face.  "Just odds and sods," he assured her.  "Nothin' even worth talkin' about."

Her heart constricted at his words, tightening her skin until she felt as if she were going to pop.  He was shutting her out, refusing to share the nightmare or let her shoulder some of his pain.  If she'd had any doubts about whether he was taking this thing between them seriously, they were now banished, gone with his callous refusal to let her in.  Yet, the need to assuage his still-racing nerves, to smooth back those tousled curls and relieve the lines that still furrowed his brow, was all-consuming, and she sat herself up, pulling him with her.

"C'mon," she said, and slid off the side of the bed.

Spike slid across the sheets to his feet, muscles aching, confusion coloring his face.  "What're you doin'?" he queried.

"Making it better," she said with a small smile, and led him toward the bathroom.

*************

She didn't know what woke her up, but the dryness of her mouth was enough to prevent her from going back to sleep right away, and swallowing hard, Willow debated whether it was worth it to open her eyes and do something to quench it.  It was then that she felt the feather touch on her hair, the hard swell under her cheek.  Oh goddess, she thought.  I didn't…

Green eyes flickered open, and the young witch lifted her head to gaze up at the resting visage of the dark-haired bouncer.  They were his fingers she was feeling, stroking her red tresses with the most gentle of touches, a small smile curling his lips.  Yep, she most surely had.  Crap.

Her movement alerted Gino, causing his hand to hesitate, his black eyes to flit down to meet hers.  The memories of what she had done, how she'd used the glimmer variation to change her cards, how she'd _cheated just to see some of his muscles, brought flames of embarrassment to her cheeks, and she blinked rapidly, trying to regain her composure.  "Hi," she breathed._

His smile remained steady.  "Hi."

She didn't remember falling asleep, and as she become more aware of her surroundings, Willow realized she certainly didn't remember when they'd changed positions, the beefy bouncer stretching out on the couch, with the young Wicca laid out on top of him.  It was weird; he was so much…bigger than any other guy she'd ever been with.  OK, that officially constituted Xander, who probably didn't count anyway because that was only some sneaky footsie and a couple stolen kisses, and Oz, who while super-sized in her heart was more…Willow-sized in real life, but still…She'd never felt so overwhelmed by a person's presence before, while at the same time, feeling completely…safe.

"How do you feel?"  Gino seemed hesitant to ask the question, but there was no mistaking the concern in his voice.

"Silly."  The redhead eased back, peeling herself away from the dark-haired man, and immediately felt bereft of his warmth.  She caught a glimpse of his feet, one bare, one clad only in a sock, as he swung them over the edge of the couch, sitting up and sliding his bulk to lean back against the armrest, allowing her as much room as she wished on the cushions.  "With just a smidge of ridiculous."

"You're just not used to the drink," he said.  "Nothing to be ashamed of.  You were just using it to try and…forget.  It's OK.  We've all been there."

"I'm sorry about…your shoes."

Gino glanced down at his feet before shaking his head.  "You know, Willow, you apologize too much.  You don't gotta do that with me.  You should know that by now."

The silence that stretched between them bolstered the young witch's nerve.  "I think you should know," she began, "for the record, I..ummm…well, this is embarrassing…I…"

"…cheated.  Yeah, I know."

Willow's green eyes widened.  "You know?"

"Well, yeah."  He chuckled.  "I'm ace at cards.  Never lost to a dame before, so I knew something was up.  Even you couldn't be that good."

"But…you didn't say anything."

Gino's smile grew.  "Why should I?  That was the most fun I've had in ages.  I'd have to be jingle-brained to do something that would've broken it up."  The confession seemed to feed his confidence and Willow watched as he straightened, sliding over along the couch so that he sat right next to her, his powerful thigh pressing against hers.  "You going to tip your mitt why you did it?  Or would you rather I just come up with my own explanation?  'Cause I'm thinking, you're not going to like what I'm thinking."

She blushed, but couldn't help the giggle that rose to her lips.  Whatever the painting's purpose had been in setting up this particular piece of her faux history, having this man as her friend was probably the best thing that had happened to her since Oz's departure.  "I thought you…smelled good," she admitted, keeping her green eyes on the carpet.  "And with the wine, I just went a little loopy."

"You're the one who got it for me," he replied.  When her head swivelled to look at him quizzically, he added, "For my birthday?  The Aqua Velva?"

"Oh.  Yeah.  Good gift.  It definitely…works for you."  She wanted to look away, but his black gaze was locked on her, darting over her face before returning back to the intelligent clarity of her eyes.  All of a sudden, the room was too warm…Gino was too near…her heart was too fast.

"You don't even know how pretty you are, do you?" the bouncer murmured, and she was frozen as one of his meaty hands came up, hesitated, then pushed a strand of her bangs away from her forehead.  He had no clue where he was gathering the nerve to do this, to be so brazen as to actually touch her, to say even just a fraction of the things he'd practiced in front of the mirror in the loneliness of his apartment.  He'd wanted it to be perfect, so that he wouldn't look like a total idiot, that he wouldn't scare her away.  But she wasn't moving, just sitting there watching him with those clear emerald eyes, and he just knew…he had to take the chance.

"Can I…kiss you?"

Somehow, Willow had known it was coming, and couldn't help looking at his mouth as she breathed, "OK."

The hand touching her hair slid down her face, cupping her cheek, almost engulfing her flesh, and Gino leaned forward while slowly guiding her toward him, black eyes closing before their lips made contact.  

It started out slow, gentle, both of them frightened…tentative…as their mouths caressed each other in a tender tangle.  Willow was the first to part her lips, to slide her tongue out to savor his, her arms reaching up to steady herself against his broad shoulders, leaning into his easy power with a familiarity that startled her sensible nature.  He tasted as good as he smelled, the mixture heady, enthralling, and she felt the tremors begin somewhere deep within her tummy, those giddy reminders of desire that she'd believed long dead, long gone.

It was the only encouragement the dark bouncer needed, scooping her into his embrace and pulling her firmly onto his lap as he deepened the kiss.  The kaleidoscope of sensations, the whirlwind of emotions, it all threatened to overwhelm him, and he silently thanked whatever gods were looking down on him.  Nobody could be luckier than Gino tonight…

*************

Spike stood in the doorway, watching as Buffy's naked form stood before the large corner shower, adjusting the knobs on the wall until the water seemed to sizzle as it hit the tiles, the steam already rising, wrapping itself around their bodies in a sultry embrace, while at the same time cosseting their tender and bruised flesh.  He didn't understand.  He knew she wanted him, had experienced it firsthand; hell, he had the marks to prove it even if she had the nerve to deny it.  But this…this went beyond their lovemaking; this bordered on genuine concern for his well-being, and that wasn't something the vampire thought he'd ever actually experienced with the Slayer…outside of the influence of magic, that is.

His face was inscrutable when Buffy looked back at him, and she briefly wondered why she was bothering, why she was putting herself through this just to ease the burden of his nightmare.  Because you have to, the little voice whispered.  Because you…

"Feelin' particularly dirty, pet?"

"No.  I find it relaxing.  The hotter, the better."  She folded her arms across her bare breasts.  "Now, are you going to get in this shower on your own, or do I have to drag your undead ass over here?"

For a brief moment, Spike actually considered letting her drag him into the water, but the stiff reminder of his recent escapades convinced him otherwise.  He sauntered through the steam, bathed in a sheen of condensation before he'd even crossed the room, and stopped just at the shower's edge, cocking his already-drenched platinum curls as he gazed steadily at the young woman who stood within.  "Now what?" he queried.

She didn't speak, only reached forward, curling her fingers around his arm to pull him in the final few feet.  The alabaster of his skin was carved in frozen glory, and, in spite of the bruising and bites that marred its perfection, Buffy found her mouth watering at his magnificence, revelling in the recent memories of their lovemaking.  She wondered if the water was stinging his skin where it pelted against the rawness, or if he was oblivious to the discomfort, accustomed to lifetimes of pain from his experiences as a vampire.  It certainly hurt her, although the longer she stood underneath it, the easier it got to bear, the tiny beads pounding against her flesh in a vicious massage, rinsing away the blood, cleansing away the sweat.  Her only hope was that it would have the same effect on him.

Gently, Buffy propelled Spike directly under the showerhead, positioning his arms as if he were her own marionette, guiding them to the tiled walls so that they could support his weight as he leaned forward.  When he tried to turn his head to look back at her, the young woman took it between her hands and redirected his gaze forward.  "Just relax," she said softly.  "And trust me."

The scent of vanilla suddenly saturated the air, and the vampire heard the indistinct sounds of the Slayer behind him.  "Goin' to smell like a bloody potpourri shop," he muttered, but his tone was light, the arousal unmistakeable.

She didn't bother with a sponge, just rolled the bar of soap between her hands until she had a good head of lather started, before placing her fingers at the top of his shoulders, massaging the muscles as the scented foam spread, dripped down his back in rivulets more stark than his skin.  Taking care not to press too firmly on those patches that sported bruising, Buffy skated over his arms…down his sides to his lean hips…then stepped forward, pressing herself into his back as her hands danced to his front.  

Spike's eyes fluttered shut at the sudden contact, and there was no mistaking his audible sigh as she rested her cheek against his shoulder blade, the muscular mounds of his buttocks melding into the curve of her pelvis.  Her touch coated his sculpted torso in creamy lather, the lowering of his head protecting that portion of his body from the shower's torrent, and for what seemed forever, the world vanished for both of them, leaving behind only the close quarters of the steam shrouding them in its dusky caress.

As enjoyable as their earlier romps had been, they paled when compared to the ambrosial tenderness that now fused the pair, each of their body's now singing with heat, and Buffy almost cried out in frustration when she felt the vampire's muscles twitch under her cheek, her eyelids shooting open as she felt him straighten within her arms.  One more minute, she thought bitterly.  Stupid vamp, you couldn't wait one more---.

And then his hand was on her wrist, and he was turning around, blue eyes darkened to black as he gazed down at her, the water pounding against his back.  He saw the hurt fading away from those hazel orbs, witnessed the softening of her mouth as if she was swallowing whatever words had formed there, and knew, even if she wasn't going to voice it out loud.  One long hand came up, pushed back the damp hair from her forehead, and his thumb brushed over her mouth, watching it quiver under his touch.  Bloody dreams, he thought.  Always bollixing things up.  Gotta learn to stop taking them so serious-like.

Buffy held her breath as his head lowered, lips meeting hers, sucking them in, and her arms came up around his breadth, clinging to him in mute desperation.  The beat of her heart echoed into his skin, and rational thought ran away, dragging behind it---for the moment, at least---all the Slayer's distress and doubts.  Breaking away from the contact of his mouth, she slid her cheek against his, tongue lapping at the water beading on his skin, and she whispered, "Make love to me."

There was no hesitation.  In one clean, swift movement, Spike's embrace lifted her from the tiled floor…positioned her hips above his erection…and slowly lowered her, her warm folds sucking him in…inch by inch…engulfing him until he was completely buried deep within her.  

It was slow, each believing they had all the time in the world…

It was splendor, the water's cascade drowning them in liquid fire as their mouths sought out the other's…

It was peace…

The rumbling began deep within Buffy's core, and her fingers entangled in Spike's blond curls, deepening their kiss as the waves of her orgasm captured her breath, painting the shower in a blinding concerto as she rode atop its undulations.  As the spasms buffeted her body, the vampire growled into her mouth, his muscles clenching as he came within her, clutching at her toned back as if it was a life preserver and he was sinking, plunging into heavenly depths unexplored…which, in all actuality…he was…

She felt the sting of unbidden tears well out of nowhere, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing them away.  He was so good at making it seem like it was more than just the act, that when she'd deliberately said, "Make _love to me," it had been an automatic response to an emotion, not to a physical need.  She didn't want to cry---didn't want him to see her cry---but fighting it back was harder than slaying, knowing when they got out that she would have to face the truth and deal with it, believing with all her heart that she was alone on how she felt.  _

How could Buffy ever face Spike in the naked light of day without his being able to read her, to see that somehow, she'd fallen in love with him…?

To be continued in Chapter 18:  That Ol' Black Magic…


	18. That Ol' Black Magic

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has realized that she is in love with Spike but believes it to be unreciprocated, Willow has kissed Gino, and the remaining Scoobies in Sunnydale have gotten more information regarding getting everyone out of the painting…

*************

"Are we just going to sit here and stare at it all night?"

It was the fourth time in the last hour that Xander had asked the question, each time hoping it would prompt Giles to break from the fugue that had seemed to settle over him since Anya's departure.  After moving the painting to the opposite chair, the Watcher had settled into the couch, removed his glasses, and scrutinized the picture, every so often tilting his head to get a slightly different perspective on it.  Once, it had actually looked like he was going to say something, sitting up in the settee and clearing his throat, but Xander had been disappointed when the older man had merely shifted his weight.

"I betcha Ahn's cooled off by now.  What say, I give her a ring, see if she wants to come over."  He stood, crossing to the telephone, his brown eyes never leaving Giles' hunched form.  "Want some donuts?  Maybe some nice jelly ones?  She'd probably bring 'em if we asked."

No response.  Xander's hand hung in the air, the dial tone of the telephone audible in the quiet living room.  Normally, he wouldn't question the older man's behavior---well, not seriously anyway---but this befuddled distance was beginning to border on the freaky, with a side order of deaky not far behind.

"It would have to be someone reasonably accessible, don't you think?"

"He speaks!"  Replacing the receiver in its cradle, Xander stuffed his hands in his pockets and ambled to stand beside the couch.  "Thought I'd lost you to some exotic museum disease for awhile there.  Staring off into artwork so much so that it sucks away your voice."

Giles ignored his companion's gibe.  "Of course, I'm not certain I'd be able to take any weapons, but I'm sure Buffy and I could manage something."

"So, is that the decision?  You're planning on going in after her and Will?"

"Can you think of another way to tell them how to reverse the portal?"  The two men regarded each other, eyes steady, until the Watcher shook his head.  "I can't.  Trust me, I've been trying."

"Maybe she'll figure it out on her own."  But even as he spoke, Xander knew how lame it sounded.  

"My fear is that whatever desire the painting perceives they want will…distract them, perhaps with fatal consequences."  

"So we go.  End of story."

Giles frowned, replacing his glasses to stare up at the younger man.  "We?  You're not going, Xander.  I won't allow it."

"And you're going to stop me…how?"  He began pacing.  "See, the way I see it, the more people we got on the inside, the better luck we have in finding this safety person."

"Or the more people Buffy has to worry about protecting from being killed, perhaps?"

Xander waved away the suggestion in dismissal.  "Unless the picture's going to make me James Bond, I don't think we're in any danger of me getting my greatest desire, so color me safe."  He stopped, crouching down to look at Giles on an even level.  "These are my two best friends we're talking about here.  They've saved my life so many times, on so many levels, that there's no way I'm not going with you on this one.  Besides, how hard can this be?  We go in, take care of the safety, we come out.  Easy as cake."

*************

Fluffy crumbs dropped to the small plate as Willow sank her teeth into the pastry, the grumbles from her stomach overly loud in the empty living room.  She was ravenous, had woken up so, and as appealing as Gino's offer to go out for breakfast had been, the redhead desperately wanted to be around when Buffy woke up.  What she needed right now was some good old-fashioned girltalk, someone she could dish with about what exactly had happened over the last thirty-six hours, and, since neither one of them had really been in the position for that last night, hangover hell was really the only option.

Actually, as far as hangovers go, it wasn't that bad.  Sure, she had a slight headache, and her tongue felt too big for her mouth, but there was no nausea like she remembered from last time, and she didn't feel like chopping off her own head.  That was definitely a bonus.

She had a mouthful of muffin when the bedroom door opened, and she turned her head to see Spike saunter out, platinum head bent as he tightened the buckle on his belt.  It took a moment for the connection to click, but when it did, her jaw stopped working, her cheeks puffed out from the unconsumed pastry.

He had already taken a few steps toward the kitchen when he noticed Willow staring at him.  "Mornin'," he said, and without breaking rhythm, continued on his way, leaving behind a confused redhead looking back and forth between the kitchen and the bedroom door.

*************

Spike was standing at the stove, stirring a small saucepan over a low flame, when Willow showed up in the entrance.  She heard the mindless humming first, and just watched him for a moment, tiny lines between her brows.  

He had just come out of Buffy's bedroom. 

Getting dressed.

Which meant he'd been…undressed.

In _Buffy's room._

Wow…

"I've seen you in a kitchen before, Red," Spike said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.  "I know you know what a cooker is for."

"Is that…breakfast?" she croaked, getting up on tiptoes to get a peek inside the pan.

He tilted it slightly to allow her to see the contents.  "I'm goin' to say you're not goin' to be interested in this, not unless there's somethin' you've been keepin' from us."

Her nose wrinkled at the sight of the blood simmering away.  That nausea she'd thought she'd managed to escape?  It was actually right there, crouching down in the pit of her stomach, just waiting for something with a big enough ewwww factor to trigger it.  She swallowed hard, inching away so that the vampire's body blocked her view of the stove.

"Where's Gino?"

The mention of the dark-haired bouncer brought back the memories from the early morning, and Willow was glad that Spike had his back to her so that he couldn't see her blush.  "He went home," she said.  "He said something about pinning on his diapers.  I _think he was talking about changing his clothes…at least, I hope he was, 'cause if he wasn't, I think I'm going to owe him a huge apology."_

He chuckled, and the redhead noticed for the first time how relaxed the vampire seemed, how at ease, how…peaceful.  "Yep, that's what it means," he affirmed.  "You two…sleep on the couch all night?"

Although he didn't look at her, Willow noticed the hint of laughter in his voice and crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling very defensive.  "Yes.  All night.  Sleeping.  Nothing else.  We're just…sleep buddies."

"Too bad."  He turned the burner off and reached overhead to grab a mug from the cupboard.  "Thought your little cheatin' trick might actually work.  I would've sworn Gino'd jump at the chance to get a few jollies."

Her green eyes widened.  "You knew, too?" she squeaked.  "Did everyone know?  How obvious was I?"

"Doubt Buffy saw it," Spike offered, then realized what she'd said, his lips curling into a smile as he leaned back against the counter.  "So.  Gino sussed you out.  And you two just…slept."  Lifting his mug to his mouth, he took a long sip, his blue eyes dancing as they peered at her over the rim, the redhead's discomfort enflaming her face.

"Yes.  Mostly."  Goddess, how long was he going to keep this up?

"'S'ok, Red.  Your dirty little secret's safe with me."

She was desperate to change the subject.  Somehow, the blond vampire had managed to turn the tables on her, changing the topic to her and Gino when they'd been talking about…Wait.  She'd only been thinking those things, so really, she was still on the same side of the table.  Fine.  _She would do the switcheroo then._

"So…where's Buffy?" Willow asked coolly.  There.  Two could play this game.

"Still sleepin'."  Spike seemed unruffled by her question, answering with his usual cool detachment, sipping at his blood as if he didn't have a care in the world.

 "Buffy said…the other room was yours." God, she was bad at this.  "And I saw you come…out of, you know…her room."

He didn't reply, only watched her as he drained off his drink, sapphire gaze scrutinizing the redhead's open features.  How much did he want to tell her?  And what would Buffy do to him if he did?  "My clothes are in there," he finally said.  "As is the bathroom, in case you've forgotten."  Better to play it safe than sorry, he decided.  Not that he was sorry about one bit of last night.  No way.

"Nice try."  She was starting to feel stronger about this; although his unflappable explanation was more than true and certainly would've been sufficient under other circumstances, she wasn't blind.  She'd seen enough over the past day and a half to know something was going on; even last night, the way Spike had stripped those stockings off of Buffy's legs had screamed conspiracy theory.  And they thought she'd been too drunk to notice.  Ha.  

"Tell you what," the vamp said, setting down his mug.  "I'll make you a deal.  You dish the dirt about you and Gino, and I'll tell about me and Buffy."  He figured it was a stand-off; no way would Red agree to such an arrangement, not with her and the Slayer being such bosom buddies.  But…part of him was kind of hoping she would.  When he'd come back to Sunnydale after Dru dumped him the first time, Willow had been the one to listen to him spill his guts, wallowing in his sorrow.  And then, it had been Willow again when he'd learned just what those commando bastards had done to him.  'Course, he hadn't really given her a choice in the matter either time between the kidnapping for the love spell and the trying to bite her bit, but still…  "Totally on the QT, of course," he added.  

Although she'd been hoping that Buffy would've been the one who helped her sort this all out, the young witch desperately wanted to talk about it, get someone to tell her just what was going on, not just with Gino but with this whole painting world.  Everything here seemed too real, and Sunnydale already seemed like forever away, and that couldn't be good…could it?  

But this was Spike.  Hello…vampire?  Chipped vampire, yes, but evil and Big Bad and hating the Scooby gang…and hating Buffy…Except she wasn't so sure about that last one anymore, and he'd certainly been nice enough to her since she'd come through.   And he _was a guy---an undead one, but a guy nonetheless---and maybe he'd be able to offer some sort of different perspective on the whole Gino thing…_

"Deal."

*************

The ingredients were strewn about on the table before him, carefully portioned into each of the bowls, dull and lifeless in comparison to the vibrancy of the room surrounding it.  Gathering them had been no mean feat; although he'd been fairly certain that there weren't any vampires in this world before he'd come through, Tony had known that he'd need certain magics in order to protect himself from the dangers of the painting.  He'd just never anticipated having to use the uninvite spell again.

He was still angry with himself for falling for Spike's trick in the first place.  You've been with Melinda for how long? he mentally chided.  Didn't that teach you anything?  But the bouncer had seemed so normal---OK, it had been pretty obvious that he didn't really care for Tony, but the musician had just brushed that off as boyfriend jealousy---how could he have known that he was a vampire?  And then there was the whole Buffy situation.  The way the two had acted around each other---the kissing, the long looks, that whole giddy I'm-in-love-and-I-don't-care-who-knows-it thing---he hadn't seen very many demons be so touchy feely around each other.  Well, Melinda had been that way, and there'd been a couple others, but generally speaking, vampires were only interested on who their next kill was going to be, not their next kiss.

Except Buffy's not a demon, he reminded himself.  According to Spike, she's the Slayer.  That little twist only muddied the waters even further.  It made no sense that the Slayer would be hanging around with such a bad-ass vampire as Spike.  Her job was to kill them.  Melinda had been very clear about that; the danger of living in Sunnydale was that death lurked around every corner in the form of a very powerful, very prepared young woman.  And now that powerful young woman was here.  In the painting.  And probably pissed that she'd gotten sucked through in the first place.  Shit

Pounding at the fine powder with the pestle, Tony's face was grim as the recriminations tumbled about in his head.  Should've left the fucking state, he thought.  Hell, I should've left the fucking country.  But how could he have known Melinda would be so diligent about finding the painting again?  Actually, a very small part of him was pleased at the thought that she'd missed him so much that she'd gone to such great lengths to get him back.  Except he knew that wasn't the whole case.  She'd paid a fortune for the painting, using it to get rid of that gang of biker demons that had been blackmailing them two years ago.  No way was she going to let such an investment slip through her fingers.  Plus, there was that whole woman scorned thing she probably had going.  Human girls might get bitchy when you wanted to break up with them, but they had nothing on vampire girls who got dumped.  _They turned into outright monsters._

Rising from his place on the couch, Tony crossed the room to the door of his apartment, the uninvite concoction resting in his hand.  He knew he was lucky Spike hadn't shown up again; exhaustion had prevented the musician from finishing the spell last night, so the fact that he was still alive to do it this morning was a good thing.  Of course, revoking the invitation would have absolutely no effect on Buffy when she came around, but he had other spells in mind to take care of her…

*************

Stretching languorously, Buffy's eyes flickered open, a small smile playing on her lips.  No hangover.  Yay.  If non-stop sex was the cure to over-indulging, she was definitely never going to have to worry about drinking too much again.  Not when the remedy was so much fun, not when her partner was so amazing.

Spike was already up and about; she'd woken up briefly when the vamp had left the bedroom but had decided to just sneak in a few more minutes of rest, reluctant to escape the comfort of the soft sheets, eager to return to the dreams that had visited her during the night.  He's probably got breakfast ready by now, she thought, and glanced leisurely over at the clock, totally unprepared for the time it was proudly displaying.

The Slayer bolted from the bed, eyes wide.  Three hours?  She'd slept three more hours?  Crap.  Half the day was gone by now, and there was so much she wanted to get done today…get Willow's take on this painting world, go see Tony and see what he meant the other night at the party, get a manicure before going in to the club tonight.  Now that was all shot.  She'd barely have time to get ready for work at this rate.

She got dressed in record time, trousers and a long-sleeved turtleneck hiding the various marks from her night's escapades.  No reason to freak Willow out before it was absolutely necessary.  Her plan was to break it to the young witch slowly, maybe tell her about the dancing first before leading into the kissing.  The sex would probably have to wait; maybe Buffy could tackle that subject with the aid of some more wine…

She stopped, her hand frozen on the door knob, the voices filtering through the heavy wood.  Spike and…Willow?  Her heart pounding in her throat, the blonde pressed her ear to the crack, straining to make out the words.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," she heard Willow say.

"That's 'cause you aren't seein' the big picture here, Red."

"But Buffy's my best friend---."

"Don't be a silly bint.  It'll go down a treat.  Trust me."

She heard Willow laugh.  "Do we have to go into your track record again, Spike?"

"You don't do this, the whole plan's not worth a toss." 

Buffy's mind whirled.  Plan?  What plan?  What in hell was going on out there?

"I've gotta be crazy for agreeing to this."

"That's why I like you, Red."

"And you promise---."

The Slayer didn't catch the rest of the sentence.  As she pushed open the door, the living room went silent, its two occupants turning in their seats to look at her standing in the doorway.

"Guess you were a little knackered, pet," Spike commented, and lowered his leg from where it hung over the chair's armrest, sitting up and reaching for the mug on the coffee table.

"I guess it's not really good morning anymore then," Buffy replied, stepping into the lounge, hazel eyes glancing back and forth between the pair.  Neither looked like they'd been discussing anything more serious than the weather; just what in the world was going on?  "So what did I miss?"

Willow shrugged.  "Spike was just filling me in on some of the stuff at the club.  No big."

Buffy glanced over at the vampire, so casual in his seat.  "What kind of stuff?" she pushed.

"The usual."  

The Slayer's annoyance went up a notch.  They weren't sharing.  Something was going on between Spike and Willow, something that required a plan, but for some reason, they were keeping her out of the equation, and the young witch was worrying that Buffy wasn't going to like it.  What she didn't like was being shut out, but if she pressed much harder, they'd know she was eavesdropping, and then she'd have to start in on some embarrassing explanations to Willow about why she was anxious about what Spike might say to her, and that was a road she wasn't ready to travel.  Not yet.

*************

"If the crowd likes you, I'll make it a c-note a week, but for now, it's just going to be the going rate, capisce?"

Giles blinked.  Standing before him was a portly older gentleman, a cigar clamped between his teeth, watery blue eyes looking up at the Watcher.  He couldn't remember seeing him in the painting, but then again…His gaze darted around, drinking in the dark hallway, the closed doors.  When he'd touched the picture, he'd been expecting to end up on the dance floor; this appeared to be someplace completely different.

"I…understand," he murmured.

"Never had a male torcher before," the other man was saying.  "Folks usually like the dames to do the singing.  But, if Buffy and Spike say you're the best, then that's good enough for me.  Now, dressing room's over there…"

But he didn't hear the rest of the instructions, too engaged with analyzing the situation, figure out what exactly was going on.  Buffy and Spike _were here, and obviously still alive, and they certainly had some sort of connection with this particular fellow.  And Giles was supposed to…sing?  So many questions, so few answers, but the most pressing one at the moment was…_

…What in the world had happened to Xander?

To be continued in Chapter 19: Mack the Knife…


	19. Mack the Knife

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Giles and Xander have come through the painting, while Buffy has overheard Spike and Willow plotting something…

*************

Even in the artificial light of the dressing room, the gemstones glittered in tempting beauty, peppering the walls with emerald and ivory sparkles, and Buffy tilted her head as she appraised her appearance one last time.  The dress had been an easy choice, a strapless white confection complete with a full tulle skirt embellished in rhinestones and rosettes, and though the gown left her bruised arms bare, the satin elbow-length gloves that rested on her chair would more than adequately cover them.  The wide jewelled choker finished the ensemble, and while she would've preferred to wear her hair swept up, the bite mark on the back of her neck dictated that it stay down.

Though she was tucked away in the dressing room, Buffy felt the silence of the apartment like a velvet cloak, and wondered what was keeping Spike.  Gino had arrived earlier to take Willow back to her place, and the blond vampire had walked downstairs with the pair, saying he'd be right back.  That had been almost an hour ago.  They probably want to talk more behind my back, she'd thought bitterly.  Willow's supposed to be my friend, not Spike's.

In spite of a few more indirect questions, Buffy hadn't been able to get any more information from the duo, and she'd finally given up trying, concentrating instead on gleaning what information the redhead had on the painting.  It had been precious little.  Willow suspected that Giles had learned more about the picture, but when she'd confessed that she'd not listened to the message left on their answering machine, the Slayer had slumped in her seat.  As each day passed, their odds of returning to Sunnydale seemed to be lessening, and though this world certainly had its appeal, it wasn't home.  Home meant slaying on a full-time basis---something she was very surprised to find she missed---but more importantly, home meant family, specifically, her mom.

Mom would know what to do, she thought sadly.  We could sit on the couch, with cups of hot chocolate, and lots of little marshmallows, and I could just spill about everything…how funny and charming Spike has been…how he keeps managing to save my ass…how amazing the sex is…Well, maybe not the sex part.  Talking about that with Mom might be kind of…icky.  But everything else, most definitely.  Especially since Willow doesn't seem interested in the position.

She hated feeling like this.  Having her best friend here was supposed to have made everything better; talking to the young Wicca would've helped Buffy straighten out her head, understand the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm her.  Yes, last night had been fun in a girly, giggly way they hadn't really done since graduating, but what she wanted now was strong, insightful Willow, not flirty, funny Willow.

The sound of the front door opening and closing captured Buffy's attention, and she turned back to face the mirror, absorbing herself in touching up the make-up that was already flawless, pretending not to notice when the door to the dressing room opened.  She knew he was right behind her, but seeing what he was doing in the mirror was absolutely no help.  Stupid no reflection vampire rule.

"You want to do it now, or do you want to do it later?" his voice rumbled.  "I'd like to vote for now."

"Do what?" she asked, desperately trying to hold onto some semblance of nonchalance.

"We haven't really had a chance to talk about last night yet."

Her hand trembled slightly as she re-applied the third coat of lipstick.  God, she hoped he didn't see that.  "There's something to talk about?"

Even though she couldn't see him, Buffy felt Spike come up behind her, and her heart began to pound.  "Oh, you're not gettin' off that easy, luv."  She felt his mouth just behind her ear, and the thought of his body so close to hers brought goosebumps to her arms.  "I told you.  I'm not going back to the way it was before.  And we're going to sort this before it goes all to cock, understand?"

She couldn't hold back the resentment any longer, and whirled to face him, the color high in her cheeks.  "So, now it's OK to talk to me?" she demanded.  "When it's your schedule, when it's what you want."

The vampire cocked his head, looking down at her flushed face.  "What're you talkin' about?"

"I'm talking about you and Willow!  Being all chatty, and sneaky, and saying things behind my back, and she's my friend not yours, and since when does Willow care about your track record, and what did she mean when she said that anyway?"  It all came out in a rush, a torrent of pent-up frustrations, and not all of it about the overheard conversation.  Buffy's chest was heaving against the boned bodice, and she began to wish that she'd chosen something else to wear, something less constrictive, because all of a sudden, breathing didn't seem like an option.

Spike's face relaxed, the corner of his mouth lifting in a wry smile.  "Little Slayers who eavesdrop ought to get their ears boxed," he drawled.

"So you don't deny it."

The vamp shrugged.  "No.  Red wanted advice, I gave it to her."

"Advice?"  Her voice was incredulous, and she folded her arms over her chest.  "From you?  On what, pray tell?"

"Seems our little witch had an impromptu assignation with a certain bouncer---."

"No!"  Buffy's eyes widened.  This was the last thing she'd expected to hear.  "When?  Why didn't she say anything?  When?"

"Early this morning.  She was embarrassed, and you were still Sleeping Beauty.  And I think I said.  Early this morning."

"But I heard you talking about a plan…"

"She wanted to know what to do next and seein' as how I'm a guy, she thought I could help.  That's all it was."  His azure gaze watched her steadily, waiting to see if she was going to be satisfied with the explanation.  She better be, he thought.  It's the only one she's going to get.

It worked.  The distraction of thinking of her best friend making out with Gino sent Buffy's head into a whirlwind, and she leaned back against the edge of the dressing table.  "I can't believe inviting him over here worked," she murmured.   "And, oh my god, did it work."

Spike waited for a moment, watching the play of emotions dance over the Slayer's face.  He loved seeing her like this, so animated, face flamed with excitement…even if it was over something so trivial as Gino and Willow.  He almost didn't want to break the spell by bringing it up again, but no way was he going to let this one go.  "Now that we've got that taken care of," he finally said, "how 'bout we get back to the topic at hand?"

"Hmmm?"  She was still lost in images of what she had missed by being asleep.

"Last night, luv."

That did it.  Buffy's hazel eyes lifted up to meet his, and the familiar thumping of her heart returned to her skin.  "What about it?" she asked.  "It was…fun."

He almost winced at the sound of hearing her say the word.  Fun.  Fuck.  "I wanna know…where you see it going from here," he said.  

"I hadn't…thought about it."  God, she hated this, hated lying to him.  I've been thinking about it all day, she wanted to scream.  Thinking about it now.  Probably think about it tomorrow.  And all because I can't get you out of my head.  Or out of my heart.  Jerk.

"That's not a get-out-of-answering-my-question free card, Buffy.  Think about it now."

His calmness was infuriating, and the Slayer felt her anger begin to rise again.  "Well, you seem to have it all figured out," she said.  "You tell me where you see it going."

So far, it was going exactly like Willow had said it would.  "You gotta keep at her," the redhead had said.  "Don't let her be Evado Girl.  If you confront her, she'll just try to avoid the issue."  Spike hadn't gone into specifics about the events of last night with the young witch---mainly at her request---but he'd told her enough for her to tell him what to do.  And letting Buffy think she could get out of talking about it was not part of the plan.

"This doesn't have to be difficult---," he began.

"Difficult?" she spat.  "I'm being difficult now?"

He gritted his teeth, tilting his head to look at her through hooded lashes.  The urge to pin her down and just beat some sense into her was overwhelming, and it was all he could do to contain it.  "All right," he finally said.  "I've managed to somehow bodge this up already, so I'm just goin' to start over here."  His nostrils flared.  "Last night.  You.  Me.  Compatible body parts.  Was.  That.  It."

"For me or for you?"  The question was out before she could stop it, and Buffy bit her lip, leaning back into the dressing table, trying to get as much distance as possible between her body and his without actually having to move her feet.  

"Well, seein' as how I already know about my head, I'm goin' to say for you, luv.  Was that it…for you?"  He hadn't wanted to bring it to this point, but Red had been adamant.  "You gotta tell her," she'd said.  "You don't tell her now, Buffy's just going to get pissed and it'll make it worse later on."  What the Wicca hadn't mentioned was how pissed she was going to get now.

Do it, the little voice taunted her.  Do it, do it, do it…until her head took control again and stomped down on the words, silencing that small part of her that just wanted to grab him and kiss him and tell him exactly what she felt.  "I would've thought you'd think compatible body parts was fun," she said.  "Besides, we keep it light and you can say thanks for the memories whenever you want, and nobody gets hurt."  Yeah, right.  She was hurting already.

"I wasn't interested in fun," Spike growled, his anger finally beginning to surge out of control, hands balling into fists at his sides.  "I thought I made that clear last night."

"So now you're saying you didn't even have fun.  Thanks.  That does wonders for my ego."

"You know, tryin' to talk to you sometimes is like pounding my head into a brick wall.  I told Red you'd do this, but did she listen?  No."  The blond vampire began pacing in front of her, eyes darkening, flashing, never leaving her face.  "What happened in the shower, Buffy?  Was that just an attempt to seriously fuck up my head?  'Cause gotta tell you, you win first prize.  It bloody well worked."  His ire was rising, his steps becoming shorter, heels hammering into the floor.  "You must think I'm a real git for falling for the softer side of Buffy routine.  Hell, you probably get off on it.  Mess with the vampire's emotions.  Give him the most amazing shag of his whole undead life and do it in the shower, of all places.  Make me think for even a second it's not about the sex.  That there's more to it than that.  Well, congratulations, Slayer.  You win the bleedin' Oscar."

She was getting dizzy from watching him, but even dizzier from listening.  "I'm not the one doing the messing around here," she barked.  "I told you everything had already changed for me, but you just wanted to get into my pants.  Well, I hope it was worth it, because it's not happening again, you can be sure of that."

Spike stopped in front of Buffy, his face inches away from hers.  She saw the muscles twitching in his jaw, cheekbones standing out in high relief, blue eyes glittering, and felt the surge of adrenalin in her veins.  "If that's all I wanted, luv, I wouldn't have waited.  You would've been fucked senseless when I had you tied to my bed.  Or have you so conveniently forgotten about that?"  

Actually, she had.  Uncertainty flickered across her face, and the little voice that had been kicked aside came scurrying back.  He wanted more, it giggled.  That's what he's saying here.  Now, stop acting like a baby and just tell him.  "It was…amazing?" she whispered.

A single finger came up, stroked the line of her jaw.  "You were there, too," he murmured, his fury suddenly gone in the wake of her mood change.  "You tell me."

"But you…wouldn't tell me your dream, and I thought…"

"That's 'cause it didn't mean anything.  I didn't want to upset you---."

"Why?  It upset _you."_

"And that makes a difference?"

"Yes."

Spike's teeth tugged at his bottom lip, his head tilting slightly.  "Have I told you yet how beautiful you look tonight?"

"You're…changing the subject."

"No…I'm not."  It didn't even look like he'd moved.  One minute, he was watching her, cerulean gaze enigmatic.  The next, his mouth was on hers, dancing over her bottom lip, soft, exploring…literally breathtaking…

Buffy melted against him, crushing the rosettes on the bodice of her dress, clinging to the tenuous belief that she'd been wrong about everything.  When his lips disappeared, her gaze fluttered up to his, and she held her breath as she said, "Tell me it wasn't about the sex.  Even if you have to lie."

"Don't have to lie, 'cause it wasn't."  He paused.  Maybe Red had been right, after all.  "I want…more than that, Buffy.  And if that's all you're after, you need to tell me, 'cause I can't handle gettin' my heart ripped out again.  I'm probably off my box here, but if this is just about having a spot of fun, then I'm gone.  Now.  Before I'm in so deep I can't even breathe."

She couldn't help the smile that curled her lips.  "You don't breathe now," she teased.

"And you haven't answered my question."

"Was there a question?"

"Damn it, Buffy---."

She cut him off with a kiss, quick and intense before sliding to the silky line of his jaw.  Tiny nibbles along his flesh brought groans from the blond vampire, and his lean hands came up to grip her arms, pushing her back.  "_Now you're bein' difficult," he said._

She licked her lips.  Hope you're happy, she told the little voice.  Because here I go… "I lied.  About not thinking about it.  Because that's all I seem to be able to do here, and when you look at me like that, it just makes it all that much harder.  There was a point last night, when I was watching you while you were asleep, that I thought, maybe it doesn't have to be like every other time.  Maybe he won't go.  Maybe he'll actually stick around.  Maybe, maybe, maybe.  And then you woke up, and you were so far away, and it all went to hell.  Because that's what I want.  I want you to not go."

"Why do you think I would?"  His grip loosened, sliding up to her shoulders, brushing the hair away from her neck.  "What makes you think I'm going anywhere?"

"Because they all do."  The prick of tears behind her eyes forced Buffy to steady her voice.  "I care about someone, and they leave me.  They say they love me, and they make these promises, and then they…Not that I'm saying I think you…love me…but…I don't know…"  Her throat choked, and she ducked her head so that the vampire couldn't see the tears escape down her cheeks.

Spike leaned forward, resting his forehead on the top of her hair, letting her cry.  Everyone I care about, she'd said.  That meant…hope.  "If I did…love you…would that make a difference?"

The young woman froze.  He hadn't…didn't…wasn't possible… "What?" she breathed.

"I'm not goin' anywhere, Buffy, not for as long as you let me stay."  He swallowed.  "Because not everyone who loves you, leaves."

*************

Gino's heels clicked across the tile floor, dark head low as he headed for the door to the back.  Willow, he thought.  Gotta find Willow.  She'll know what to do.  She can tell me how to handle this.  As he reached the exit, he stood back, allowing the musicians to come filing in, taking their places on the bandstand, his impatient hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, itching to just grab the door and shove them all away.  He couldn't, of course; Mr. Lombardi would have his hide if he laid a finger on any of them.  Especially since the new torcher was supposed to debut tonight.

When the last of the band had filtered through, the dark-haired bouncer bolted into the back, almost colliding with Lola.  "Where's Willow?" he demanded.

The dancer jerked her head toward one of the doors.  "Still in the dressing room…" she started, but he was off before she could finish, brushing past her and knocking at the room before she could even blink.

It opened, and the redhead stood before him, a high-heeled shoe dangling from her hand.  "What is it?" she asked, immediately sensing the tension that wound through his body.

Gino glanced at the empty room behind her.  "Can I come in?" he asked, suddenly hesitant.  In spite of their early morning kissing, or maybe because of, his self-consciousness around the young woman was actually augmented, and he felt more than ever that he had to tread lightly, lest he scare her away.

Willow stepped back, letting him hurry past, shutting the door softly behind him.  "Is something wrong?"

"We got trouble.  Well, actually Buffy and Spike got trouble, but seein' as they're not here yet and I'm the one out front having to answer all the questions, it's partially my trouble, too," he rushed, face flushed as his black eyes darted around.

"Hold on.  Slow down.  Take a deep breath."  She waited, watching him duck his head, deliberately following her instructions before raising his gaze back to her face.  "Now, start over.  There's trouble?"

"Mack's here.  And he's asking about Buffy.  And seein' as how he hasn't been around since their little announcement, I don't know what to say that's not going to get me in dutch, 'cause you know his boys always pack.  Not that I'm scared of shooters or anything, but Mr. Lombardi doesn't let me carry so it puts me at a serious disadvantage if something were to happen, know what I mean?  So, what do I tell him?"

Her head was spinning.  "About what?"

"About Spike and Buffy," Gino said exasperatedly.  "You remember last time Mack was here.  He was talking about her and _him getting hitched.  I don't think he's going to be thrilled when he finds out she's taken up with Spike."_

"Why hasn't anyone told him about…them?"  God, this was confusing.  Too many players, too little information.

"You want to be the one to tell the bossman his favorite girl dumped him for a bouncer?  I know, Buffy was only humoring him because he owns the joint, but still…"  

The knock at the door jerked both of their heads around, and Gino jumped off the dressing table he'd been leaning against.  "Who is it?" Willow called out.

Whoever it was, didn't wait for anyone to answer, turning the knob and pushing it open before the words had finished coming out of her mouth.  The redhead's eyes widened at the sight of the genteel man who stood there, narrow shoulders expertly suited, thin lips curled into an amused smile, but it was the tall young man who stood directly behind him that captured her attention, causing her heart to skip a beat.

Xander…?

To be continued in Chapter 20: Seems Like Old Times…


	20. Seems Like Old Times

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Spike and Buffy have had a breakthrough regarding their feelings to each other, while the owner of the club has shown up looking for Buffy with Xander in tow…

*************

His grey eyes flickered over the pair in the dressing room, lingering just a fraction too long on Willow's stocking-clad legs before travelling up to her whitened face.  "Miss Rosenberg," he greeted, his voice a silken rumble, the deep baritone incongruous with his diminutive form.  "I heard you had another accident.  You seem to have recovered…nicely."

Something about his tone made the redhead blush, suddenly too conscious of her scanty costume.  "Thank you," she stammered.

"Are you alone?" the man queried, stepping further into the room, his gaze darting around.

For a moment, Willow was reminded of the Alice's White Rabbit, and she had to stifle the giggle that bubbled to her throat.  He pulls out a pocketwatch, she thought, I'm going to lose it.  Out loud, she replied, "Just me and Gino.  Nobody else.  Just us."

"Pity," he murmured.  "I was rather hoping…"  His gaze settled on the dark-haired bouncer.  "I'm surprised to see you back here, though.  Shouldn't you be at the door?"  The furtive glance exchanged between Gino and Willow didn't go unnoticed, and the small man smiled in amusement.  "Ah.  Well.  I'm glad Miss Rosenberg's finally recognized your charms, Gino, but I'm sure Mr. Lombardi would prefer you fraternize on your own time, not…mine."  He turned back to the young witch.  "I assume your roommate is running late as usual.  When she arrives, would you be so kind as to let her know I'd like to see her at the bar?"  He didn't even wait for a response.  With a perfunctory nod, he turned and headed out the door.

Stepping aside to let him pass, Xander stayed the smaller man's exit with a tentative touch on his arm.  "I want to have a word with Will---Miss Rosenberg, Mack.  I'll be out in a sec."

"Take all the time you need," the owner replied and disappeared into the hall.

Gino watched as Willow rushed forward, throwing herself into the other man's arms.  "Ohmigod, Xander!" she cried.  "What're you doing here?  Are you stuck, too?"

"Hopefully not."  He broke out of the hug and stepped back.  "Me and Giles found out how to get you and Buffy outta here."  His brown eyes flickered to the bouncer, whose countenance had been growing blacker and blacker, then back to Willow.  "Should we be doing this in front of Conan here?"

"Oh."  The redhead turned to face Gino.  "Do you mind?  I kinda want to talk to Xander privately."

"Nope, not going to happen."  Perching himself back on the edge of the dressing table, he crossed his arms over his chest, his jacket straining over his back.  "I'm not leaving you alone.  I don't trust this guy."

"Who is this?"  Xander's voice was incredulous.

"A friend," she replied distractedly.  To the bouncer, "Xander's OK.  I'm perfectly safe."

"I don't care.  You're not giving me the boot until he's gone."

"Look, here's the thing…"  Xander crossed the distance between him and Gino, only to blanch when the other man stood, straightening to his full height to glare down at him.  "A very…big…thing…"

"That's enough."  The redheaded witch stepped between the two men.  "Xander, in the corner."

"What did I do?"

"Corner."

Gino couldn't help the satisfied smile that curled his lips as the smaller man shambled over to the edge of the dressing room.  That'll show him, he thought.  It quickly faded, however, when a very angry Willow whirled to face him.

"What're you doing?" she demanded.

"He's…one of Mack's trouble boys," the bouncer floundered as if that was enough of an explanation.  Why was she so upset with him?  Harris was bad news, always had been, and with him being the bossman's right hand now, there was no way Willow was safe around him.

"Don't you think I can take care of myself?"

"Well, no."  Gino's black eyes were bewildered.  "You're just a dame---."

"What?"

He flinched at the harshness in her voice.  OK.  That had been the wrong thing to say.  Try again.  "Willow, protecting you from guys like that is my job---."

"Your _job?  I'm your __job now?"_

"No, that's not what I meant…"  He'd never seen her this angry before.  The green of her eyes was bright, clear, glittering in righteous indignation, and two red dots lent her cheeks the only bit of color in her skin.  He didn't get it.  What had he done wrong?  "I just…can't see you getting hurt," the bouncer managed.  "I thought…you know, after this morning…you understood that."

In spite of the personal offence she felt, Willow's resolve melted as she gazed into his face.  His black eyes were averted from hers, his head ducked, and all of a sudden, she felt like an ogre.  He's just a big ol' teddy bear, she thought.  And, for some inexplicable reason, he's genuinely worried about Xander.

"Hey," she said, one hand reaching up to rest on his heavily muscled forearm.  "I'm sorry.  My bad."

At the gentle tone of her voice, Gino visibly relaxed, shoulders slumping, returning to his semi-sitting, semi-standing position on the edge of the table.  With a quick glance toward Xander in the corner, he extended a meaty hand to lightly grasp Willow's hip, pulling her closer so that she stood between his legs, leaning just ever so slightly against his thighs.  He didn't remove his grip; another longer, more focussed look at the other man in the room stated it more clearly than if he'd said out loud.  Mine.

"After what happened last time," he started, "I just thought you'd want to steer clear of Harris.  I don't want you getting hurt again."

Something had happened, something bad.  That explained everything.  "I know.  But there's some things he and I need to talk about, and it's easier for me if it's just a little more private than you standing over my shoulder doing the bodyguard thing."  When he opened his mouth to object, she rushed onward.  "You don't have to go, just…stay on this side of the room, OK?"

"I don't like it, Willow.  He's packing.  How'm I supposed to protect you from a gun if you're all the way over there?"

"Trust me.  Shooting is not what he wants to do."  Just the thought of it was enough to make the redhead smile, and she had to quickly check her mirth in light of Gino's concern.  "Relax, you've got nothing to worry about," she added.  "You're my guy, remember?"

*************

"What the hell was that all about?" Xander hissed, sneaking glances over Willow's shoulder at the looming form of the bouncer near the door.

"Gino's just a little…protective of me," she said.  "It's a long story.  So you said, there's a way for us to get home?  How come you had to come through the painting?  Isn't it something you could do from Sunnydale?"

He shook his head.  "It's definitely an inside job," he replied.  "And odds of you guys figuring it out on your own were about as good as Giles getting lucky."

"So, let's do it then."

"There's a problem."

"We can do a problem.  No problem."

"OK, actually, there's two."  He ducked his head.  "First of all, technically, we know _how to reverse the portal, but we don't exactly know the __specifics of it.  It's going to need a little research and some hunting around on this end before we can actually use it to go home."_

"Oh, yay!  Research, I can do," Willow smiled.  "What's the other issue?"

"I've lost Giles."

That wiped the smile from the redhead's face.  "What do you mean, you've _lost Giles?"_

"Well, we touched the painting at the same time, but when I got past the upchuck factor of coming through, he wasn't anywhere around.  So number one on the to do list, find Giles."

"And you work for Mack?"

Xander nodded.  "Seems like I'm his right hand.  On the way over here, he kept asking my advice on all these issues, like what I said was important.  Oh!"  He brightened.  "And, I've got a gun."  

As he began to reach into his coat, Willow grabbed his hand, freezing the movement, glancing behind her to make sure Gino hadn't caught it.  "Not a good idea to pull that out right now," she hissed.  "Not if you don't want to end up a big pile of goo on the floor."

"What's up with that?"  Xander straightened, peering over her head at the other man.  "He's acting all…boyfriendy."

"I'll explain it all later."  She bit her lip.  "We should probably get to work.  When Buffy and Spike get here, we'll fill them in on what's going on, then figure out a plan to find Giles."

"So Bleach Boy is still around?  I'm surprised Buffy hasn't dusted his ass by now."

"Um…yeah.  About Spike and Buffy."  The memory of her earlier conversation with the blond vampire was all too fresh in Willow's head.  She hadn't known what she'd been expecting when they'd first started talking, but it certainly hadn't been a secret love confession for the Slayer, or the suspicion---hope, really---that she might reciprocate his feelings.  "You're delusional," Willow had said.  "It must be part of the effect of the painting."  But listening to him talk, hearing him spill out his fears, watching the play of emotions he couldn't hide from his face, she'd been reminded of how broken he'd been when Drusilla had dumped him the first time.  And the more he said, the more real it sounded, until she hadn't had any choice but to believe him.  "Things are…different here," she started, only to stop when the door opened and two of the club's dancers entered, giggling and chatting away.  Willow blushed as they tossed knowing glances her way.  "Well, better get off to work," she said too loudly.  "You know, selling cigarettes and all."

Xander nodded and walked toward the entrance.  "Hey there, Mr. Harris," one of the girls said breathily, her eyes gleaming.  When he smiled back at her, she burst into a giggle and scurried over to the corner where her friend was waiting, whispering behind one of her hands.

Willow's eyebrows shot up as he just shrugged.  "Must be my animal magnetism," he commented before ambling out.

*************

He was standing just inside the door when Buffy pushed it open, her arms full of her skirt as she held it away from the rough edges of the jamb.  "You know, just this once, I'm actually glad that you can't be on time to save your life," Lombardi growled, grabbing her gloved arm and pulling her into the hall.

"It's good to see you, too," she commented dryly, carefully extracting herself from his grasp.  

"I got no time for games right now," he said.  "We both got bigger fish to fry."

"As long as it's not halibut," she joked.  "I've never really been a halibut kind of gal."

He glared at her, chewing on the end of his cigar.  "You need to know.  Mack's back, and he's looking for you."

Buffy felt the fine edges of her good mood begin to fray.  Now what? she thought.  Hadn't she gone through enough already in this stupid painting?  Scorpions, near-prostitution, boyfriend getting shot.  So far, the only thing to have gone right was Spike.  She couldn't help the smile that came to her lips at the thought of the vampire, the fact that she'd been completely bone-headed in thinking he didn't care sending her into major guilt overload and totally overcompensating in making it up to him.  That's why she was even later than usual.  Not that either of them minded…

"What does he want?" she asked.

"Whaddaya think?  Nobody's told him yet about you and Spike, though, and I don't want you to say a word, either.  I'll be the one to break it to him."

"And Mack should care because…?"

Lombardi sighed in exasperation.  "For once, could you just do what you're told?  Play along with him, just 'til I get a chance…"  His voice trailed off, and Buffy watched as the older man's watery gaze darted over her shoulder.  She began to turn around, only to be stopped when an arm slipped around her waist.

"God, I missed this smell…"  Stiffening, the Slayer felt whoever it was---this Mack maybe?---lower his head to her neck, inhaling deeply.  Her throat went dry, the similarity between this and Spike's frequent nuzzling too spooky, too…wrong.  What is it about men and my neck? she wondered irrationally.

"Good evening, Mack."  The Lombardi Buffy knew had disappeared, only to be replaced by this smiling, acquiescent figure, and she began to question just who this new arrival really was.

"I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to show up."  Without his hands leaving her, he turned her around to face him, grey eyes smiling into hers.             

She didn't know what she was supposed to think, but the first thing to flit across her mind was…god, this guy is really short.  "Girl's gotta make a living," she said as lightly as she could manage.

Mack laughed.  "That's my Buffy."  She saw his gaze wander downward, stopping at her neck, his head tilting as he appraised the jewelled choker.  "I knew that was one of my better investments," he commented.  "And see?  The fact that you picked to wear it tonight is just…kismet."

Lombardi cleared his throat.  "Can I have word with you in my office, Mack?  There's some…business we need to discuss."

"Can't it wait?"  The owner's eyes never left the Slayer.  "The joint's still standing; it can't be that serious."

"Better we get it over with now."

Mack sighed.  "I'm just never going to get some alone time with you, am I?"  Buffy's eyes widened as he leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers.  "Save me a dance," he murmured, before stepping back to allow Lombardi to lead the way to his office.

OK, what the hell just happened here? the Slayer thought wildly as the two men disappeared behind the door.  Mack…obviously someone with enough power to give Lombardi the wiggins…and she had some kind of past with him as well…he bought her the necklace?...and the kiss, major ick factor there…

With more questions than answers---isn't that the usual in this place? she thought---Buffy headed for the entrance to the front of the club.

*************

Willow was waiting for her as she entered the dance floor, grabbing Buffy's arm to pull her aside from the throng.  "We gotta talk," she said conspiratorially.

"If it's about that Mack guy, don't worry.  I've had the not-so-distinct pleasure," the Slayer replied.  "Who is he anyway?"

"He owns the place," the witch answered.  "And apparently he's got a thing for you."

"Yeah, kinda figured that one out already," she said, still feeling the feather touch on her lips, doing her best to suppress the shudder of disgust.

"There's more."  Willow was practically bouncing on her toes, the excitement wound tightly through her body.  "Xander and Giles are here, and they've found a way for us to get back to Sunnydale.  Only thing is, Xander hasn't been able to find Giles yet---."

The sound of the screeching microphone pierced the air, and both girls cringed as they turned to look up at the stage.  Buffy's eyes widened.  "I think we just found him."  

In spite of his impeccably tailored tuxedo, the Englishman seemed flustered as he struggled with the mike stand.  Blue eyes kept darting out over the crowd, and when the band began to play behind him, his initial response was to jerk his head around and just stare at them, almost as if he couldn't believe what was happening.  "I don't think he's adjusting too well," Buffy commented. 

"Oh, yeah, because we just slid on in, no problems," Willow came back with, the sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"What's he supposed to be doing?"

The redhead didn't even need to answer.  As the music swelled, Giles cleared his throat and closed his eyes.  "Seems like old times," he crooned.  "Having you to walk with…"

"I'm going to say singing," Willow responded, suddenly lost in the gentle tones of the Watcher's voice.

"I didn't know he could do that," Buffy murmured.  "Did you know he could do that?"

"I do now."

The pair just stood there, transfixed by the Watcher's song, until finally, the Slayer yanked her gaze away from the stage.  "Well, that's one down," she said.  "Where's Xander?"

Willow couldn't help the smile as she pointed over to the bar.  Buffy's eyes followed her finger, only to widen as she saw the swarm of young women who stood around her suited friend, all of them giggling, most of them doing everything in their power to find some reason to touch him.  "He's not, like, a gigolo or something, is he?  Is that why they're all googly over him?"

"He works for Mack.  I guess he's supposed to be some hotshot."

Buffy sighed and turned back to face her best friend.  "This painting works in mysterious ways."

*************

Although nobody had bothered to approach him, Spike had seen the others, noting with dismay that he was going to have to listen to Rupert sing here as well as in the shower back in Sunnydale.  He didn't understand why the birds were so enamored with Harris, though, or why Gino wouldn't tear his thunderous gaze away from him at the bar, but none of it mattered.  Not now.  Not tonight.  Tonight, for the first time since getting chipped, Spike was truly happy.

Buffy loved him.  He didn't have to pretend anymore.  And though she hadn't actually said the words, he knew, could see it every time she'd looked at him…touched him…kissed him…He was looking forward to taking her back to the apartment tonight, although how the rest of the Scooby gang was going to figure into the equation, he had no idea.  Their arrival probably meant they'd figured out how to get them back to Sunnyhell, but Spike didn't care.  They could whisk them away to Timbuktu for all that it mattered.  As long as Buffy was with him.

He felt Gino stiffen at his side, his black eyes finally leaving Xander to dart over to the small suited figure striding across the dance floor.  The vampire had seen him earlier before he'd disappeared in the back, and though he had no idea who he was, it was obvious he was someone of importance.  Had to be with the way everyone was kowtowing to him.

"Evening, Mack," Gino blurted as he approached.

The owner's grey eyes barely flicked to the bulky bouncer, settling instead on his partner as he stood before him.  "Spike," he said smoothly, "could I have a word with you, please?"

The vampire shook his head.  "I'm on the clock here.  Sorry."

Gino's elbow in his ribs forced a scowl from Spike, but he refused to turn away from the man before him.  "Well, since it's my clock," Mack said, "I believe you'll do as I say.  Out front.  Now."

Spike stepped back and watched as the smaller man brushed past, exiting the club.  "You better do what he says," Gino said behind him.  "You don't want to piss Mack off."

Maybe, the blond vampire thought.  But what about him pissin' me off?

*************

At his very first opportunity, Giles left the stage and rushed over to Buffy's side at the bar, waiting patiently as the crowd of men surrounding her stepped back to allow her exodus.  "You have no idea how glad I am to see you," the Watcher said, ignoring the amused laughter from the others behind him.

"We need to confab ASAP," she said.  "You got a break right now?"

"Well, yes."  He frowned behind his glasses.  "Is that important?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm not getting on Lombardi's bad side until I don't need a paycheck anymore."  She scanned the crowd, catching Willow's eye and waving her over.  "I know it's weird, Giles, but you'll get used to it.  I promise."

"That's what I'm afraid of," he murmured.

"What's up?" asked the young witch as she joined the pair.

"Scooby meeting," Buffy replied.  "Go get Spike and meet us in the dressing room."

"Gotcha," Willow said, and turned toward the door.

Watching her walk away, Giles asked, "Spike?  Is that really necessary?"

Buffy couldn't meet his gaze, choosing instead to look around for Xander.  "Yeah," she murmured.  "It is."

*************

Sauntering onto the sidewalk, Spike watched as Mack pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket, playing with the gold foil for a moment before holding it out to the bouncer.  He hesitated, then thought, what the hell, taking one of the white sticks as he reached into his own pocket for his lighter.  Neither man spoke as they lit up, each taking deep drags and exhaling into the cool night air.  The smoke swirled around their heads, dissipating into pale clouds as it floated away, and the vampire wondered not for the first time what this was all about.

"You've been very busy since I've been away," Mack started, not even looking at his employee as he watched the cars pass by on the street.

Spike snorted.  "Listen, you want to piddle about with small talk, be my guest, but I've got a job to do inside, so if you don't mind…"

"I wonder how it was you actually got Buffy," the owner mused.  "I mean, you're certainly a good-looking fellow, but let's face it.  I don't pay you enough to keep her in the lifestyle to which she's accustomed."

Now he had his attention.  At the mention of the Slayer's name, Spike's eyes narrowed, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers.  "Buffy loves me," he growled.

"Yes, I suppose you would think that.  You know, she told me once she loved me."  For the first time, Mack looked at the blond vampire. "Right after I bought her a diamond bracelet.  She can be very…grateful."

"What do you want?"  It was all he could do to keep his voice level, to keep his demon in check.  He didn't like what he was hearing, or how it was being said; the way this Mack was talking, it made Buffy sound like…

"…just a cheap whore, really," the smaller man said.  "Hardly worth losing your job over, don't you think?  Of course, she isn't without her charms, and we both know that she is one of the best at what she does…don't we?"  He chuckled.  "Still, I can understand why you'd be infatuated with her.  What do you think it will take to…break you of her spell?"

Spike watched as Mack reached into his inside coat pocket and extracted a long, thin billfold, the fury rising in his throat like lava about to spew.  "Whatever it is you're suggestin'," he snarled through gritted teeth, "I suggest you don't."

"No, really.  What's the going rate for girlfriends these days?  One thousand?  Two?"

That was it.  With a roar, the blond vampire leapt through the air, tackling the smaller man, sending them both crashing to the sidewalk with a bone-crunching thump.  His fist came up, swung down, connecting with the other man's face, again…and again…his anger and disgust spilling out of him in waves.

"Spike!"  Her hands tugged at his arm, trying her best to pull the vamp off his victim, shocked at how powerful his muscles felt under her grip.  "Spike!" Willow tried again.  "Stop it!  Get off him!"

Chest heaving, the blond sat back on his heels, allowing the young witch to drag him away, his blue eyes never leaving Mack's unconscious form.  "I'm goin' to kill him," he growled.  "I'm goin' to rip him limb from limb and…"

Willow's hands dropped from his coat sleeve like she'd been stung.  "Spike…"  His head swivelled to see her edge slowly back, away from him, her green eyes wide with fear.  "You…hit him."

"Yeah?  You shoulda heard what we was sayin' about Buffy!"

"But…"  The redhead swallowed.  "Your chip…"

He frowned, his hand going automatically to his head.  For a moment, he'd forgotten, lost in his wrath and the sheer pleasure of pummelling the smaller man.  But now…

As the realization dawned on him, his frown faded, to be replaced by a tight smile, a delicious gleam in his eye…

…The bloody chip had never been activated…

To be continued in Chapter 21: Looking for Yesterday…


	21. Looking for Yesterday

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy is rounding up the Scooby gang for a meeting to discuss how to get back to Sunnydale, while Spike has just discovered that his chip doesn't work…

*************

He had almost forgotten how it felt…the rage searing his veins as his fists battered against spongy flesh, the recoil a natural impetus for his next blow…the taut stretch of skin across his knuckles, tightening only to tear and weep with stolen blood…the sense of purpose that imbued his demon self, directing him with a decadent zeal that had somehow been lacking over the past few weeks.  Not until it was returned did Spike fully realize how stripped he had felt, how bereft in the face of another's power, but now…

With the chip unable to punish him any longer, the vampire was desperate to embrace what exactly that meant for him.  It meant no second-best blood bags, but the real deal, the crimson lifeforce supped as it was intended…hot and gushing with the memory of a heartbeat still enriching its essence.  It meant the right to pick his own course, to decide for himself if he was coming or going, to err or succeed based on _his choice, not someone else's. _

It meant freedom.

Turning golden eyes toward the inert form on the sidewalk, Spike felt the fury that had only just started to subside, begin to surge forth again, the desire to kill Mack a coppery tang in his fanged mouth.  One foot had even stepped forward, closing the distance between him and his intended victim, before Willow's voice rang out in the night.

"Don't touch him, Spike," she warned.  "You've done enough damage for now."

"Oh, the damage is only beginnin', Red," the vampire crooned.  "Mr. Mack here's goin' to learn just how much pain he can take before he's beggin' for me to kill him."

"You lay one more finger on him and I'll tell Buffy what you've done."  Willow grimaced, glad Spike wasn't watching her, couldn't see how lame she knew that sounded.  I might as well wear a big sign around my neck that says, I'm a big fat tattletale, she thought.

That stopped him.  Letting his demon face slide away, the vampire pivoted to look at the young witch, so keen to put as much space between them that she now very nearly stood in the club's front door.  "This is _about Buffy," he said evenly.  "He thought he could just pay me off, like she was chattel or somethin', like anyone could even think of putting a price tag on her, or on how I feel about her.  I'd say that merits a little bit of punishment."_

"I'll agree, not the nicest thing he could've done," the redhead acquiesced.  "But he's already pretty badly beaten.  Anything more will just be overkill."  She stopped, frowning.  "OK, bad choice of words, but you get the idea."

"Me and Buffy had ourselves a little breakthrough this afternoon, thanks to your spot of advice.  Seems she really does love me after all.  I think she'll understand."

Willow actually laughed out loud.  "Hello?  What world are you living in?  'Cause the Buffy I know will stake you faster than you could say 'bloody hell' if she thinks you're any kind of a threat."

"Not me.  She wouldn't do that."  But the doubt was already beginning to creep into his voice.

"Because you think she loves you?"  The young witch shook her head.  "If you think loving you makes you immune to her sense of responsibility, Spike, you don't really know her at all.  She killed Angel and he had a soul.  Why should you be any different?"

She was right, and both of them knew it.  He'd actually forgotten about the poofter, how Buffy had sent him to a hell dimension in order to save her world, how she'd done that in spite of how she felt about him.  And Spike wasn't so blinkered that he thought she'd somehow ignore her calling just for him.  He'd just…forgotten for a minute.

"Fine," he finally said.  "You win.  But I'm moving up our plans.  I need to get Buffy away now, get us and this whole situation sorted."  

As he started to march into the club, Willow jumped forward, braving proximity to physically stop him from entering by pressing her hand against his chest.  "Whoa there, big boy," she said.  "Plan's off.  No way am I letting you get anywhere near Buffy with that chip of yours in full working order."

"Because I'm goin' to…what?  Kill her?  Don't be daft, Red.  I love her.  She may piss me off sometimes, but that doesn't mean I want her dead.  I like her just fine the way she is."

"What about the rest of us, Spike?"  She was terrified, the all-too real possibility that she'd push the vampire too far sending bolts of fear coursing through her system, but she wasn't going to back down.  She couldn't.  "It wasn't that long ago you were trying to kill _me.  What's stopping you from finishing what you started?"_

The blond vampire tilted his head, looking down at her through hooded lashes.  Up to this point, he hadn't really considered the ramifications of what not having the chip would mean in regards to the Scooby gang.  His ravenous bloodthirst had been focussed on revenge, and the hunt associated with the kill, not on those meals that were nearest to him.  Yet, considering it now, with Red's throat so exquisitely exposed above the low-cut décolletage, Spike discovered that he didn't really _want to kill her.  Not that she wouldn't be delicious---of all Buffy's little sidekicks, Willow was infinitely the most interesting---but somehow, it didn't seem…right.  _

He almost groaned out loud as the word popped into his head.  Turning into Angel after all, he thought.  And I don't have a bleedin' soul to blame it on.  But, it was there, and he couldn't ignore it.  He actually _liked Willow, and he liked having her around.  Not that the witch would ever understand that.  And he'd sound like a bloody ponce if he tried using that as an excuse.  No, had to tell her something she'd actually believe._

"You said it yourself, Red," he said.  "Buffy'd think it bang out of order and stake me before I could take the first swallow.  Not that shutting Harris up once and for all wouldn't be fun, but it's not goin' to happen."

There was a long moment where the only sound on the street was the dull roar of engines as they whizzed past the club, the occasional honk accenting the automobile chorus.  The pair just stood there, staring at each other, neither sure of the other anymore, until, finally, Willow stepped back, letting her hand fall from the vampire's chest.  "Buffy's called a Scooby meeting," she said coldly.  "She told me to come get you."

For some reason, that pleased Spike, knowing that the Slayer was including him now on their meetings, as if what he had to contribute might be of some value.  Just another way of her showing how she feels, he thought.  Even if she hasn't said the words yet.

"Lemme just tell Gino I'm goin' to take a break," he said, starting to pass the young witch, only to be stopped by her hand on his arm again.

"You have to tell Buffy, you know that, don't you?"  She watched him appraising her, and when he didn't respond, she added, "If you don't, I will."

Shrugging away her grasp, Spike stuffed his hands into his pockets and sauntered inside, whistling quietly under his breath.  Willow sighed.  Not good, she thought sadly.  Things are most definitely not of the good.

*************

Buffy couldn't help brightening when the dressing room door opened and Spike came strolling in, lips pressed together as some indiscriminate humming emerged from his throat.  "Took you long enough," she said, smiling, and edged over on the table, making enough room so that he could sit down beside her.

He hesitated only for a fraction of a second before settling himself next to her, his thigh pressing into hers through the voluminous skirts of her dress.  "Had some business to take care of," he replied, unable to suppress his grin when she laced her fingers through his.  She seemed to be ignoring the sudden frowns that clouded Rupert's and Harris' faces, and frankly, Spike was chuffed to bits.  Let 'em stew, he thought.  Bugger cares what they think anyway.

When Willow slipped inside just seconds later, she kept her gaze away from Spike, sitting herself on a stool near the doorway.  "We've only got a few minutes," she warned.  "Mr. Lombardi's in the middle of something sticky, and I don't think he's going to be too happy if he finds all of us back here."

"Right then," said Giles, rising to his feet as he cleared his throat.  "We've found out there's a way to reverse the portal so that we can all get back to Sunnydale."

"What portal?" asked Buffy.  "The painting?"

"Yes.  It's actually a conduit between our dimension and this one, used by demons for rather unsavoury purposes.  Normally, it doesn't allow travel backwards, but we discovered the method to change that."

"So what're we talking here?  Spell?  Ritual?  Human sacrifice?"

"Actually, human sacrifice is very close to the truth, Buffy."  The Watcher took off his glasses and began cleaning them abstractly.  "Someone within this milieu has been chosen---literally marked---so that in the event one wanted to return to our world, his or her sacrifice would open the channel to allow that.  Our job now is to find that person."

"So you don't know who it is…"  Buffy bit her lip, suddenly lost in thought.  "I bet I could find out.  Right now probably."  At her mentor's puzzled frown, she elaborated.  "There's another guy here, says he's from LA.  But he just knows way too much stuff about this place not to know more than what he originally said.  I mean, he wasn't surprised at all when Spike got shot, or when we told him about the scorpion---."

"Wait a minute.  Back up."  Xander cocked his head.  "Someone took a shot at Spike? And I wasn't around to see it?"

Ignoring the comment, the Slayer looked at the blond vampire at her side.  "What do you think?  Feel up to scaring Tony a little bit?"

His mouth curled into a wicked smile.  "It'll be my pleasure."

*************

As soon as the door closed behind Spike and Buffy, Xander jumped to his feet.  "OK, what the hell is going on here?" he demanded.  "Since when are they all Crockett and Tubbs?  And the touching thing?  That's just seven kinds of wrong."

Willow bit her lip.  "You forget, until I showed up, it was just the two of them.  A lot's happened."  No way was she going to go into this now, not with both Giles and Xander looking like they wanted to personally dismember the blond vampire.  OK, so she was ready to stand in that line right now, too, but it still wasn't her place to say anything.  Buffy could be the one to face the wrath of the Watcher.  Just one more bonus in being Chosen.

"Someone told me…Spike and Buffy were…"  He couldn't even bring himself to say the words.  When that Lombardi fellow had casually referenced their engagement, Giles had felt a sudden sense of panic, a return to those feelings when Willow had done her unfortunate spell.  And now, seeing them like this…He, himself, didn't feel as if he were under the influence of magic, and Xander and Willow certainly seemed normal…well, as normal as could be expected…so what possible excuse could Buffy have for acting the way she was toward the chipped vampire?

"Yep, they are," the young witch confirmed.

"Are…what?  What am I missing here?" asked Xander.

"Engaged," Giles murmured, as he sank back down into his seat.

"Again?"  His incredulity almost sent echoes throughout the room.  "What is it with those two and getting married?"

"I really…don't…want to know," said the Watcher, and carefully replaced his glasses.  "Really."

*************

"He knows we're on to him," Buffy said as they made their way back to the dressing room.  "That's got to be the only reason he skipped out of work tonight."

Spike shrugged.  "Can't say that I blame him," he said.  "If I'd had the choice, I'd've stayed home tonight, too."

The young woman smiled, stopping just outside the door.  "You know," she murmured, "I've been dying to find out what that swing is for---."

"Spike!"

Lombardi's voice boomed through the hall, and the vampire's head dropped.  Shit.  Here came the other shoe.  "Go on and tell the others," he said to Buffy.  "I'll take care of this."  He watched her slender form disappear into the dressing room before tilting his head to look at his boss' stampeding approach.  "Don't even start," he warned.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Lombardi barked.  "You're specifically looking for a Chicago overcoat, aren't you?  You know he's in the hospital.  Fucking unconscious, probably a coma, knowing my luck."

"Bastard tried paying me to stop seein' Buffy!  What the hell do you expect me to do?"

"I expect you to keep your trap shut and let me deal with it.  I told Buffy to just play along with Mack until I got him smoothed over about you two.  I just expected you'd have better sense than to clock him, especially right in front of his own joint."  

"Nobody tells me what to do," Spike menaced.  "Certainly not some blighter with piss poor timing.  He had it comin' to him, and I'd do it again without blinkin' an eyelash."

Lombardi sighed.  "I fucking hate this," he muttered.  "You know I gotta let you go, don't you?  No way can I let you stay on without Mack saying it's jake.  You're just lucky the coppers aren't going to get involved."  He shook his head.  "Just get your stuff and go home, Spike.  Make it easy for both of us.  And when Buffy gets off work tonight, you just better appreciate her for what she's costing you.  'Cause things are going to get real cold around here for both of you until Mack's OK."

The blond vampire just stood there for a moment, coolly appraising the older man before shrugging.  "Tell Gino to keep an eye on the guy in the bowler at the bar," he said as he walked away.  "He's just dying for trouble tonight."

Lombardi watched as the bouncer disappeared out the back door, the sinking feeling he'd had since finding out about the fight plummeting even further.  How the hell am I going to replace someone as good as Spike? he wondered.  His thoughts were interrupted when the dressing room door opened, and Xander Harris came wandering out, Buffy right on his tail.  "I was just coming to look for you," Lombardi said to the young man.

"Why?  What's wrong?"

"Mack's in the hospital.  You should probably get down there and make sure he gets all checked out."

Buffy frowned, pushing her way ahead of her friend, standing with folded arms before her boss.  "What happened?" she queried.

Lombardi snorted.  "What happened?" he echoed.  "Your boyfriend is what happened.  Spike beat the crap out of Mack, left him unconscious in front of the club."

He turned back to Xander.  "He's at St. Mary's.  The car's out front to take you there."

As the older man walked away, Buffy felt the vise tighten around her chest, squeezing as it tried to suck away her air, her head beginning to pound as the newfound knowledge stole away her breath.  Spike…fighting…it wasn't…possible?  But Lombardi said it was, said the proof was lying in some hospital bed, that _Spike had been the cause.  If that was true---why would he lie?---then that only meant one thing, and that one thing was tunnelling her world, undercutting the tenuous foundation she'd been beginning to lay…_

…If Spike could fight, that meant he could now…

….kill…

*************

She stumbled over the easel that lay on the floor, swearing under her breath as she did so.  This was certainly not someplace she'd ever thought she'd be seeing again, but desperation and lack of options had really left her no other choice.  Stupid Tony, she thought.  I'm going to kill him when I see him again.

Peering into the darkness, Melinda wondered again just how he managed to get any work done.  I can't see anything, she grumbled.  I sure as hell don't see how he can.  When the light came on from nowhere, the vampire found herself temporarily blinded, blinking rapidly to try and get rid of the spots that now danced before her eyes, frozen in her place as she tried to figure out where exactly she was standing.

"Somehow, I had a feeling you were going to be showing up."  H'roven's voice was almost a cackle, and she heard the soft pinging of his spines as he moved around inside the tiny room.

"Oh?  'Cause you missed my sparkling personality?"  She paused.  "Wait a minute.  What did you just say?"

"I figured it was just a matter of time before you came to me," the demon said.  "You know, you should really take better care of your things.  Especially things that cost as much as my paintings."

Melinda's heart jumped.  "You know something," she rushed.  "Tell me you know something."

"I know lots of things.  But I'm going to bet what you're interested in, is the location of your picture.  Am I right?"

"You know where it is?"

He laughed, a brittle sound that seemed to break as soon as it hit the air.  "Honey, not only do I know where it is, but I so desperately want you to get it back, that I'm going to tell you…free of charge…"

To be continued in Chapter 22:  Full Moon and Empty Arms…


	22. Full Moon and Empty Arms

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Spike has gotten fired from the club for putting Mack in the hospital, while Buffy has learned that his chip is malfunctioning…

*************

She hesitated, one hand over the door knob, the other clutching the stake she'd crudely fashioned in the dressing room back at the club.  Her bones ached, not from physical exertion but from the barrage of doubts and fears that had attacked her body ever since she'd discovered what Spike had done, and the sense that she was somehow watching from outside herself, that this was all part of some crazy nightmare, was overwhelming.  Everything had been so good…Spike had told her he loved her, saving her from an unrequited disaster of a relationship…no life and death decisions to be made…even the promise that she wouldn't be alone anymore, that he would stay, no matter what.  Now, it was crashing down around her ears, broken rubble tearing at her flesh, trying to destroy what semblance of happiness she'd even considered having.

Only one thing was making this any easier for Buffy.  In spite of their vociferous objections to the contrary, the Slayer had refused to let anyone else accompany her back to the apartment, blocking out their arguments that if Spike was in fact dangerous, she was going to need all the help she could get.  Giles in particular had been adamant about leaving her to her own defenses, and it wasn't until she threatened to tie them all up and leave them in the dressing room for Lombardi to find, did they back down.  Of course, she couldn't look any of them in the eye, shame at how foolish she'd allowed herself to be coloring her face in hues she was unable to hide; it wasn't until she was in the hallway that she could even let the impending tears fall down her cheeks.

When Willow had come rushing after her, Buffy had wiped away the wet tracks, turning to face her friend with grim determination.  "Not that it will make any difference," the redhead had said, "but Spike had a really good reason to go after Mack.  And even though he could've and really wanted to, he did deliberately choose not to kill him."

She didn't let on otherwise, but as the Slayer stepped away from the young witch, she felt the first flicker of hope begin burning in her gut.  It did make a difference---a small one---and maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have to kill another man she loved after all.

Tentatively, Buffy pushed open the door of the apartment, not even sure if Spike was going to be inside or not, her stake poised and ready just in case.  Please don't make me use this, she begged silently, hazel eyes sweeping over the darkened room, peering into the shadowed corners, hunting for something---anything---out of the ordinary.  She didn't know what she was expecting, wasn't even sure if the vampire would even be here, but the stillness that greeted her was disconcerting, a mockery of the intimacy it had sheltered only a few hours before, and the young woman felt her heart sink even lower.

"Spike?" she called out.  Was she expecting a response?  Did she really think he'd just jump out of the shadows and announce his presence?  She was sure of nothing anymore, and wouldn't be until she could talk to him.

The door to her bedroom stood open, lending the lounge the only bit of illumination it had, and Buffy tilted her head, a tiny line etching itself between her brows.  Although it was moonlight and not coming from artificial means, she could've sworn she'd drawn the curtains before they'd left for the club earlier.  That meant…

Her feet carried her to the doorway, the stake hanging loosely at her side.  Inside her chest, her heart was pounding against her ribcage, threatening to break free and go skittering across the floor, and she inhaled deeply to try and steady her last remaining nerve.  It had been a long time since she'd been this anxious about an encounter with a vampire, and the fact that it was Spike…only made it worse.

He stood before the window, forehead leaning against the glass, forearm pressed to the pane over his head, staring out at the twinkling lights of the city.  The muscles on his bare back stood out in chiaroscuro relief, the pale luminance of the night sky causing his skin to glow as if from some inner light.  Her heart leapt at his icy beauty, while at the same time sinking, the encroaching reality too raw, too near.

There was no tension in his body, no fear, and when he spoke, the hypnotic rumble of his voice seemed surprisingly serene.  "Been a long time since I've lived in a place like this," he said.  "Dru always had a taste for the exotic.  This would've been too mundane for her."

"When were you going to tell me?"  Buffy's tone matched his as she struggled to keep it steady.

He didn't even look at her, his sapphire gaze drinking in the skyline.  "Does it even matter now?"  She saw the corner of his mouth lift.  Was he actually smiling?  "I think it's something to do with bein' up so high.  Really gives a bloke perspective."

"Tell me what happened."  It was all she could do to hold back the "please" she so desperately wanted to add.

"I'd say that's pointless since you're here to stake me anyway."

Buffy looked down at the weapon in her hand.  He hadn't even looked around, had known without needing to, yet acted as if it didn't matter…totally at ease…resigned.  Her thin fingers loosened around the wood, hesitated, and then, with a flick of her wrist, she tossed the stake onto the bed, far enough away so that neither of them could get to it easily.  "Tell me what happened," she repeated.

It was only then that he moved, straightening with that feline grace that so mesmerized her.  The moonlight caught the platinum curls of his hair as he tilted his head, turning it to gaze at her, eyes fathomless as he stood there in silence, drinking her in just as intensely as he'd just been watching the city.  The Slayer felt the familiar tingle of electricity down her spine, and mentally chided herself.  Keep it together, she thought.  You're not out of the woods yet.

"He tried buying you," he said.  "Offered me cash on the spot to back off."

"So you beat him up."

"Show me a bloke who'd've taken the dosh, and I'll show you a prat who doesn't know what love really is."  The vampire started to take a step toward her, then stopped, shoving his hands deep into his pockets instead.  "It was instinct, Buffy.  That's all."

"It shouldn't have been anything," the young woman argued, her tone hardening ever so slightly.  "That's the purpose of the pain chip, remember?"

He couldn't help the grin.  "Well, guess that's just a bonus for me, huh?"

"No!  Not a bonus!  This isn't a good thing, Spike, and standing there laughing about it is not instilling me with confidence here."  She folded her arms across her chest, suddenly cold.  "When did you know it didn't work anymore?"

"Only when Red turned green around the gills, and let me say, not her best color."  He sighed.  "How much of the third degree are we going to do tonight, luv?  'Cause gotta say, it's startin' to lose its appeal."

"Spike, as long as we're still talking, you're still alive.  Or dead, or undead, rather."  God, she hated the semantics of it.  

"Whaddaya want me to say?  I wanted to kill him.  I didn't.  End of story."

"What about killing in general?" she pressed.  "How do you feel about that now, knowing you can do it?  For that matter, why aren't you out there right now sucking the populace dry?  Why bother coming back here at all?"  The Slayer's anger was starting to rise, her frustration and hurt bubbling to the surface, unable to stay contained in that tight little box she kept locked up deep in her gut.  He was being so casual about this, like it didn't make any difference, like what he'd done had been the most natural thing in the world.  OK, yeah, at least now she knew the why of it, and part of her---a really small, non-feminist part---actually thrilled knowing there was someone who'd react in that kind of way just for her.  But that didn't make it right, and it didn't make him safe, and it sure as hell didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.

For the first time since she'd arrived, Spike looked annoyed, rolling his eyes.  "That has got to be the stupidest bloody question you could've asked," he said wryly.

"Oh, really?"  She was shocked at his response, and, OK, very slightly amused.  Leave it to Spike to throw her for a loop.  "And what makes it so stupid, oh blond and annoying one?"

The first use of her casual sarcasm didn't go unnoticed, but the vampire didn't let the fact that he noticed it register in his sculpted features.  "You are either the most thick-headed bint I've ever known, or you've got the worst short-term memory this side of Sunnydale."  He shook his head.  "A few hours, and you forget everything I said to you.  Isn't that just peachy.  I said I wouldn't leave, luv, and I meant it.  Not that it seemed to make an impression on you, from the looks of it."

Buffy frowned.  She couldn't let him do that, not now, not when lives were at stake.  "Just words, Spike.  They're just words.  Your actions speak a helluva lot louder."

He had closed the distance between them before she could blink, strong hands gripping her upper arms, and as much as she wanted to yank herself free, she felt frozen, locked under that impassioned blue gaze, caged within the tide of the anger that was now rolling off the vampire's nude torso.  "Just words?" he growled.  "I'll give you just words."  His nostrils flared.  "Action.  I defended the honor of the woman I love.  Not.  Wrong."  The vampire's eyes danced with errant fury.  "Action.  After getting fired for doing the _right thing, I came home to wait for that same woman, because that's what I'd promised her always to do.  Again…Not.  Wrong."  His gaze sank to the tremor in Buffy's bottom lip, transfixed by its delicate curve.  "Action.  I deliberately left myself open to let you stake me 'cause I knew you had to feel safe.  So, you tell me.  Was that wrong?"_

"Safe?"  She wrenched herself from his grasp.  "You're a killer, Spike.  You expect me to feel safe around you, knowing that any minute you could turn around and attack me?"

"Not that hard, Slayer.  I've done it every second since I realized I loved you."  When his hands reached up to grab her again, Buffy's reaction was automatic, one arm knocking them away while her other fist connected with his abdomen.  He grunted in surprise from the contact, and before he could think, the vampire's leg shot out, foot extended as his heel crashed into her knee.

The pain was excruciating, crushing against his skull, and Spike grabbed his head as the young woman collapsed to the floor.  She watched in horrified fascination as he grabbed the edge of the bed, a stream of English curses filling the air.  He was either the world's best actor, or…

And relief coursed like a painkiller, numbing her from the worry, and doubt, and fear, acting like a shot of morphine direct to her soul.  She'd never been so happy to see someone in such pain, and the irony of that started off a series of giggles that quickly overwhelmed the Slayer, choking her breath as she struggled to her feet.

"I'm glad you find it so fuckin' amusin'," Spike growled, giving his head one last shake before straightening.  "Think I'll set myself on fire for an encore."

Buffy fought for air, wiping at the tears that seeped from her eyes.  "It's…a joke…this whole…painting…"  

The vampire's eyes narrowed, waiting for her to regain enough composure to actually make sense.  She better not be saying what I think she's saying, he thought.

"It's playing with your chip," she continued.  "And playing with your head.  Letting you hurt people from this world, but not from ours."  Her face visibly softened.  "Once we get back to Sunnydale, everything will go back to normal again."

"You say that like it's a good thing," he muttered.  

"Do you _want me to stake you?  Because I'm thinking, you're acting like it's a big fat yes."  She frowned, puzzled.  "You have no idea how I felt when I found out about Mack, do you?"_

"Got a pretty good idea," he murmured.  "I knew Angelus, too, remember?"  He took a step closer.  "But I'm not him, and the sooner you realize it, the happier both of us are goin' to be."  He had already forgotten the pain, realizing now that he had her, had gained the stay of execution he didn't think he was going to get.

"You have to play nice until we get out of here," Buffy intoned, eyes glued to his advancing form.  "I have to be able to promise Giles that there won't be any funny I–got-bit-by-my-puppy injuries showing up."  Her breath caught in her throat as his hand reached up, fingertips skating down the side of her neck, tracing the line of her collarbone.

"If I recall correctly," he said, head leaning in so that his lips could follow the same path, "you like it when I'm not nice."

"Don't…change the subject…" she gasped, her skin suddenly aflame.

"Wouldn't dream of it," and his mouth found its favorite pulsepoint, sucking at it gently.

"I'm serious, Spike."  With more will than she thought she possessed, Buffy grabbed his platinum curls and pulled his head away, holding him at arm's length to stare up into his face.  "The last thing I want to do is kill you.  God, do you have any idea how badly I needed you to talk me out of it when I walked in here?  But we've got to lay some rules, and the second you break them, I'll do it.  I did it to Angel.  I'll do it to you.  Understand?"

He just looked at her for a long second, his cerulean gaze thoughtful, lips slightly pursed.  "I thought not havin' the chip work meant freedom," he finally said.  "'Twasn't 'til I was on my way back here that I realized that that meant bugger all if I didn't have you."

In spite of her resolve, she smiled.  "Spike, you are the only person I know who can use the word bugger in a sentence and still make it sound romantic."  

"All part and parcel of the Big Bad package, luv."

*************

Willow was wiping the last of the make-up off her face when there was a knock at the dressing room door.  "Come in!" she called, reaching for another tissue.

His bulk loomed in the entrance, and the young witch couldn't help her smile as she caught him in the mirror.  God, I am so glad _my boyfriend has a reflection, she thought, and then blushed as she realized how she'd just referred to Gino.  Not my boyfriend, she hastened to remind herself.  Just a nice guy who happens to like me, who I spent a good part of this morning kissing, who I really like, who…OK, who am I kidding?  Boyfriend._

"You want a ride home?" he asked.

Home.  That meant her apartment with Lola.  Not Buffy's.  Which was too bad because she was dying to find out what had happened there, if her friend had actually staked Spike or not.  "That'd be great," she replied.

"Can we…talk for a minute first?"  His black eyes darted around the room, wondering if they were alone.

Something about the seriousness of his tone stole the smile from Willow's face, and she pushed the empty chair at her side closer to him.  "What's wrong?" she asked as he straddled the seat.

"A lot of stuff's come down tonight," he said, eyes fixed on his fingernails.  "And you know I'm not good with the brain business, so I need some straight answers from you.  As my…friend."  He wanted to say more but the nerve failed him.  Better safe than sorry.

"Whatever you want."

He cleared his throat.  "You know Mack's in the hospital."  The redhead nodded.  "You gotta know…I think Spike did right.  And if it'd been me, and someone tried to pay me off, I'd've done the exact same thing."  He held up his hand to hold off her speaking.  "I know you think I'm old-fashioned that way, but what Mack did…it's not right.  He may be the boss, but he's still a wrong number, and nothing you're going to say to me is going to convince me Spike did something wrong."

There was a long pause while Willow waited to see if he was going to add anything further.  It was obvious that he'd been practicing his words, and she could see how hard this was for him.  The last thing she wanted to do was make it worse.  "You know, if I hadn't been there to stop him, he would've killed Mack," she said softly.  "You think that's right?"

"I…think…Spike would do anything for Buffy.  They just got that kind of love, you know?  And I could see how he could get pushed far enough to do…that."  Gino stopped, finally looking up at the young woman opposite him.  "Spike and I got lots in common.  And just because we both work with our fists and not our heads, that don't mean we're not men of honor.  And I gotta make sure you see that, 'cause I don't want you thinking I'm just some dumb mug who doesn't know right from wrong."

"I don't---."

"Wait a sec.  I'm not done."  He took a deep breath, running his thick fingers through his dark hair.  "I know I'm not as smart as Harris, or got as much dough, or even talk as good, but I do know I'm a better man.  And I want to know why, after what he did to you---after how he hurt you---I get stuck at the door while he gets to come on back whenever he wants."  The bouncer exhaled loudly, the relief that he'd actually managed to get it all out washing over him like a hot shower.  It had been eating at him all night, especially after he'd seen her laughing and joking with Harris at the bar.  Before this morning, he would've just taken the hurt home and drunk it away in a bottle of bourbon, but now, with that small flame of hope she'd given him---_you're my guy, she had said---he needed to get it out._

Willow reached forward, setting her hand on his leg as if the physical contact would somehow ease her guilt.  This had nothing to do with Spike, or Buffy, or what had happened; this was about Xander, and about some history she knew nothing about, and about a gentle giant's deep-seated feelings.  "I'm just going to have to be apology girl for a while," she said with a small smile.  "Because you have no idea how sorry I am for making you feel this way."

His hand inched downward, hesitating, jerking to a stop before starting again, finally coming to rest on hers, engulfing it as his thumb stroked the side of her tiny wrist.  "And which way would that be?" he asked quietly.  "The feeling of making me feel bad, or, you know…the other?  Because if you're not happy about me, I can always back off.  You just gotta say the word, and we can go back to the way things were before.  Last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable about me…"  His voice trailed off, unable to say the words, but both of them seeing them anyway, hanging in the air between them…_loving you._

"Oh, no," Willow rushed.  "I'm happy about it.  Honestly." And, for some inexplicable reason, she was.  In spite of what she knew now about the painting, and in spite of how part of her was actually dreading going back to Sunnydale, the young witch was over the moon about Gino and the relationship she had struck up with him.  I never realized just how much I needed someone to want me, she thought.  Or how great it would be to want someone else just as much.

"And Harris?"

"Won't happen again," she vowed, and in that very second, meant every word of it.

*************

She knew she was going to have to get up soon and draw the curtains, but nestled between the warm sheets of her bed, Buffy could only stare out the window, watching the sky's colors begin to shift, lightening in hues no man could recreate.  Things still weren't completely of the good, and she wasn't so blind that she didn't see that.  Somehow, she was going to have to convince the others that Spike wasn't a real threat, which meant making their relationship very clear to the gang, using words that Giles was probably going to hate, like love…and trust…and understanding.  It wasn't going to be pretty, but it was necessary, and would have to happen as soon as possible.  It was the only way they'd be able to work as a team to find the safety that would get them home.

Although both of their bodies had been more than willing, Slayer and vampire had tacitly agreed not to make love as they climbed into bed, choosing instead to curl against each other's naked bodies, molding themselves together as if in doing so, they could drive away all the events of the past few hours.  It frightened her how easily she had given in to believing him, trusting his arguments, _needing to hear him say them.  But he'd been right, on so many levels, and it was time Buffy started actually hearing what he had to say, trusting in her instincts.  That was supposed to be part of the whole Slayer package, right?  Intuition about good and evil and all that crap?  All along, she'd been listening to reason, or to Giles, or to what everyone else deemed good and proper, and outside of actual slayage, ignored those gut feelings in dealing with emotions, or relationships.  Well, from now on, she vowed silently, that's officially stopping.  I'm the Slayer.  If I can't trust my own instincts, what can I trust?_

To be continued in Chapter 23: Come Rain or Come Shine…


	23. Come Rain or Come Shine

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy and Spike have learned that his chip only malfunctions when it comes to people in the painting, and the Slayer has decided to go with her instincts and trust him, which means letting the rest of the Scooby gang in on their whole arrangement…

*************

The sticky silence wrapped them in discomfort, clinging to their skin as frowns and worried brows abounded.  Her eyes darted to each of them, wishing that they would just look at her, meet her gaze for a fraction of a millisecond, stop making her feel like a one-legged albino midget in a travelling circus.  She didn't know what was going through Spike's head, but from her seat on the floor between his legs, Buffy didn't want to make herself look even weaker in the eyes of her friends by looking back to the blond vampire for support.

Giles was the first to speak.  "What…rules?" he queried, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as if to stem a headache behind his eyes.

"Just your basic stuff," the Slayer replied.  "No killing, no biting, no fighting."

"Except for self-defense," Spike interrupted.

"Right," Buffy agreed.  "Except for self-defense, or in the case of an emergency."

"And just who gets to decide what constitutes an emergency?" asked Xander.  "I assume we're talking 911 stuff, not…oh-I-think-I'm-in-the-mood-for-a-bloodshake stuff."

"I will," the young blonde stressed.  "But it's not going to come to that.  Spike's promised---."  Giles' audible snort cut her off, and she felt her anger begin to bubble again, only the feather touch of the vampire's fingers in her hair keeping her from jumping to her feet.  "Look," she said, probably too loud but at that point she didn't care, "this isn't going to be a debate here.  Them's the facts and if you don't like them, tough.  I've thought long and hard about this, and I know what I'm doing is right here.  If you don't like it, there's the door."  She waited, half-holding her breath, unsure as to whether anyone would actually take her up on her ultimatum.  It was the last thing she really wanted, but if they were going to refuse to acknowledge that Spike was going to be a valid part of the gang now, that was their problem, not hers.  And, maybe, if she thought that often enough, she might actually believe it.

No one moved, each just looking around guiltily at the others, avoiding any direct contact with the blond pair at the chair.  Finally, Giles cleared his throat.  "We really must start formulating a strategy on finding out who the safety really is," he said, his voice cool and detached, the sudden change in subject his only way of acceding to Buffy's control.  

The Slayer's shoulders visibly relaxed, and she exhaled softly.  Not the handholding show of support she would've wanted, but nobody had left so that was definitely of the good.  They would come around, she just knew it; it was only a matter of time.  Shoot, Willow was halfway there already, what with her little advice session with Spike.  "I still think Tony's are best bet," Buffy said, settling down into the mode she knew best.  "He knows something.  I'm sure of it."

"Bugger says everyone who comes through has these little accidents," the vampire volunteered.  When the blonde between his legs turned to stare at him, a quizzical frown in her eyes, he shrugged.  "We had us a little chat."

"And you were going to tell me about this…when?"

"Well, as soon as it came up again," Spike replied.  No need to let her know he'd gone out for a little walk without her, better to just keep it vague about when he'd actually found his information out.  "There was this whole me gettin' shot thing that kind of happened in the middle there, luv."

"Well, that would certainly hold true with what we learned about the purpose of the painting," Giles mused.

"What else did he tell you?" Buffy asked.

"That his girlfriend's a vampire, some bird named Melinda---."

"Hey!" exclaimed Xander.  "That's who that H'whatsit guy said owned the picture."

"So it probably wasn't an accident he came through," Willow offered.  "Maybe she meant it for him."

Buffy frowned.  "I don't think so.  He seemed way too calm about being here."

"I got the impression he was hoofin' it," Spike said.  "Wasn't too happy to be talkin' about his girl back home."

"So, plan is, we get Tony and find out what he knows."  The Slayer looked around at the small group in her living room.  "He's not going to talk to me or Spike, not if he was ducking out of work just to avoid us.  So that leaves Willow, Giles and Xander to go to his apartment and see what they can find out."

The redhead slowly raised her hand.  "Ummm…I can't."

"You can't?"  Buffy couldn't hold back the surprise in her voice.  "Why not?"

"I…have a date."

"A date.  With…oh…"  Realization dawned on the blonde woman's face, followed very quickly by a small frown.

"Besides," Willow rushed to add, "Tony probably already knows that I'm not from here.  Wasn't he one of the musicians I fell on when that guy pinched my ass?"

Xander's eyebrows shot up.  "How much have we actually missed here?" he said.  "'Cause these sound like sharing stories to me."

"You're right," Buffy agreed, ignoring her friend's comment.  "So just Giles and Xander then."  She rose to her feet.  "I'll call around and chat up some of the other girls, see what I can find out from them.  Then Spike can take over when I go into work."

"The joys of unemployment," the vampire drawled, and watched as the others joined Buffy in standing.  Not too bad, he thought.  Could've actually gone a lot worse.  Probably got softened up by Red's spell.  Not that he really cared what they thought, but they were part of the Slayer package so Spike knew he was going to have to play nice…for her sake.

As Buffy and Willow disappeared into the kitchen, Giles quickly strode over to the blond vamp's chair and leaned over, his spectacled face only inches from Spike's, long hands gripping the sides of the arm until his knuckles were white.  "One more rule," he murmured, his voice deadly.  "If Buffy gets hurt in any way and I find out you were responsible, I will personally see to it that that undead heart of yours gets spooned out of your chest with a number two pencil.  Do you understand?"  He didn't wait for a response, just blazed at him with lethal eyes, and straightened, marching to the front door of the apartment, Xander at his heels.

*************

"So what're you two doing?" Buffy asked as she reached for a mug in the cupboard.

"I dunno," Willow admitted.  "Gino wouldn't tell me.  I hope it's something inside, though, the way it's coming down in buckets out there."

The Slayer's eyes were thoughtful as she poured the contents of the saucepan into the cup.  "I know this is going to sound mom-ish, and don't get me wrong, I think Gino's a great guy, and normally I'd be all, go Willow, but…"  She glanced back at the redhead.  "You're not getting in over your head here, are you?  I mean, when we go home, he's going to still be here.  You OK with that?"

The young witch smiled, just a tad too widely, a tad too casually.  "Sure," she chirped.  "Gino and I are just having a few laughs.  That's all."

"Spike told me about…the kissage.  Sounded like more than just a giggle."

"Oh, that."  Willow waved it away with a flick of her wrist.  "He's cute, I was drunk, and he likes me.  Aren't I allowed to have a little fun?"

Buffy frowned.  This didn't sound like her best friend; this sounded like someone her best friend was trying to be.  "Fun, yes, but I think you're setting yourself up for getting hurt again---."

"If memory serves, you were the one who invited him over here in the first place.  And besides, weren't you guys telling me to snap out of it?  Well…I'm snapped now.  Think of Gino as my rebound guy if it'll make you feel better."

"Except you're not really a rebound kind of gal, Will."

"I'll be fine.  Trust me.  Now stop worrying about it and get that out to Spike before it gets cold and we have to listen to him whine about it all afternoon."  The young witch held her smile as Buffy glanced at her one more time, hesitating in the doorway before leaving the kitchen.  Once she was alone, it faded, and Willow bit her lip, the line returning between her brows.  She hated lying to her best friend, but no way could she admit how deeply she'd fallen for the dark-haired bouncer already.  The thought of leaving him behind was already starting to eat at her, giving her strange and restless dreams that only confused her even further, and frankly, she wasn't sure what was going to happen.  All she knew was that when Gino had asked her out for this afternoon, her heart had leapt at the option, making refusal entirely impossible.  It had been all she'd thought about all day, and even finding out the whole story about Spike and Buffy hadn't been enough to distract her from her daydreams.  And right now, she wasn't going to let anyone else spoil it for her.

*************

The apartment was silent after everyone had gone, the only sound the occasional slurp as Spike sipped at his mug of blood.  It was going to take him forever to finish it at this rate; he didn't have the heart to tell Buffy she'd scorched it, making the already not favorite taste even worse.  At least she tried, he thought.  Gotta count for something.  Maybe some biscuits might take some of the edge off…

"You think they get it?" she asked from where she was lying on the couch.  She'd been staring up at the ceiling ever since they'd left, mulling over everything she'd said, wondering if maybe she could have made it any easier for them.

"'Course not," Spike replied.  "But they will.  Just give 'em some time to get used to the idea."  No way was he going to bring up the Watcher's warning; Buffy didn't need anything more to worry about.

She rolled over onto her side, propping her head up on her hand to look at him.  "They think I'm under a spell, you know."

"That would be called the Spike spell, luv."  He couldn't help the wicked grin that creased his face, and ducked his head as she threw the pillow at him, missing contact by mere millimeters.  

"I think Willow's headed for some heartache," she said, changing the subject.  "I think she's in over her head, but she won't admit it."

"She probably thinks the same about you," he countered.

"But at least you get to come home with me," Buffy argued.  "What about Gino?  What happens when she's got to say goodbye to him?  I mean, Oz leaving wasn't that long ago and look how broken she got about that.  It's just…too soon, don't you think?"

Setting down his mug, Spike rose from his seat and crossed to her side, kneeling at the edge of the couch so that he could push the hair back away from her face.  "Maybe it's exactly what she needs right now," he soothed.  "Gino's a good guy.  He's not goin' to hurt her and she knows that.  I think if I were her, I'd be jumpin' through hoops just to be around someone who loved me as much as he does."

"I suppose that makes sense," she murmured, suddenly lost in the hypnotic rhythm of the vampire's touch.  Her eyes fluttered shut, and she sighed, a gentle exhalation that released her pent-up energies with a single breath.  "I'm really not in the mood for research," she moaned, her bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly.

With her lids down, Buffy didn't see the gleam suddenly appear in Spike's azure gaze, the slight tilt of his head as his tongue ran over his teeth.  "Bet I could think of somethin' else to do…" he taunted, and slowly skated his hand down the side of her neck.

*************

Though the wipers were working overtime, Willow could only barely see the outline of the building that loomed in front of them, a murky shape that seemed to stretch itself along the block as if it were being laid to rest.  At her side, Gino killed the engine, the jingle of the keys suddenly seeming too loud in the confines of the car.

"How much longer are you going to keep me guessing?" she asked, peering out the window.

"We're here.  This is it."

"And this is…?"

"The new planetarium."  When her green eyes turned to stare at the bouncer, he smiled shyly.  "Seemed like your kinda joint."

"It is.  Thank you."  She wasn't sure why she was surprised; sometimes, Gino seemed to know more about her than anyone else she knew.  "But…are you going to like it?  I don't want to do something if you're not going to have fun."

Gino shrugged.  "Can't say I've ever really had the opportunity," he said.  "I mean, I know from nothing about the stars and such, but the way I figure it, who better to teach me than the smartest person I know?"

Willow blushed.  "You're sure you want that?" she teased.  "Because once you get me started on learning, there's no holding me back."

"Positive.  Besides, I heard there's a room in there where they turn the lights off, and you just lay back, and they show all these stars on the ceiling, like you were actually outside and everything.  Working nights means you don't really get that many chances to do any real star-gazing, so we should probably grab it where we can, you know?"  His black eyes glanced at her, ducking his head when he saw her watching him.  "You just wait there.  I'll bring the umbrella around so you don't get wet."

As his body twisted in his seat to reach the umbrella in the rear of the car, Willow rested her hand on his forearm, halting his motion.  Gino's dark gaze jumped to her face, widening slightly as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.  He froze, his heart pounding in his chest, the heat in his body all of a sudden focusing itself on his groin.  She'd never initiated a kiss before.  Even that morning---what a morning---at Spike and Buffy's, he'd been the one to start it all, guiding her along as their kisses turned from gentle to passionate, holding himself back when his need for the beautiful redhead seemed to overwhelm him.  Now, though…

The bouncer's hand came up and cupped the side of her face, pulling her in even closer as his lips parted, exploring the sweet depths of her mouth.  He could almost hear the beating of her heart through his fingertips, and inwardly smiled.  It was nice knowing she was excited as he was; it was kind of like…coming home.

*************

Anya stood outside the door, her gaze jumping around, her foot tapping restlessly against the cobbled pathway.  She didn't even know why she was here.  By all rights, she should be back at home, sitting by the phone, waiting for Xander to call and apologize for being such a bonehead.  Except that's exactly what she had been doing for the past two days, and her telephone hadn't rung even once.  Well, except for that telemarketer who had the misfortune of catching her just after she'd gotten home.  That was one company that was going to think twice about calling her again.

Biting her lip, she reached up and rapped sharply at Giles' door.  Xander hadn't been at home, or at his latest job, so that left only one other possibility…here.  After a moment of silence, she knocked again.  English people are supposed to be polite and answer their frickin' doors, she thought irritably.  C'mon, girl on the edge out here.  When she knocked a third time, she knew, without having to even peek inside the window, that nobody would be coming.  He could be out shopping, though, she rationalized.  Only one way to find out…

Getting the spare key Giles always kept on hand, Anya glanced around before slipping it into the lock, slipping inside as if she were there to burgle the place and not just find her boyfriend.  She locked the door behind her, waiting for a second as her eyes adjusted to the gloom of the darkened interior.  "Giles?" she called out, but knew almost immediately that there wouldn't be a response.  The apartment was too dead, deserted by its inhabitants.

She went straight to where it rested on the desktop, switching on the table lamp to peer into the vibrant colors of the painting.  It only took a second to find the Watcher in front of the orchestra, and only a few more to find a dapper Xander at the bar.  Her lids fluttered shut and her head fell in resignation.  "Crap," she muttered…

To be continued in Chapter 24: I'll Be Seeing You…


	24. I'll Be Seeing You

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Buffy has told the gang about her and Spike, while Xander and Giles have gone to see Tony about his knowledge regarding the painting…

*************

The door of the dressing room flew open and Willow came rushing in, face flushed, eyes glistening.  "I'm late, I'm sorry, my bad," she breathed, dropping her bag onto the floor before collapsing in a nearby chair.  "What did I miss?"

"Nothing yet," Buffy said, taking in her friend's dishevelled appearance.  Yep, over her head.  Big time.  "Giles was just about to tell us what he and Xander found out at Tony's."

"Not much, I'm afraid," the Watcher said, wiping the lenses of his glasses.  "He's a rather…slippery fellow."

"Did you get _anything?" the Slayer pressed._

"He confirmed what we already knew.  Melinda owns the painting and yes, she is a vampire, but he claims to have come through it by accident.  He says that that's what he told Spike."  A wry smile twisted Giles' lips.  "He doesn't seem to…like Spike very much."

"Big surprise there," Xander muttered.

Buffy ignored both of them.  "And he didn't know anything about the safety?  Who it is?  How we can recognize him?"

"No.  Again, he claimed ignorance of how the painting actually works.  I think that perhaps we should try a more…direct approach tomorrow."

Xander leaned forward in his chair.  "Tell them about the magic."

The Slayer's eyes widened.  "Magic?  What magic?"

"Well, we can't be sure---."

"You seemed pretty sure this afternoon," Xander interrupted.

"I could be mistaken."  Giles slipped his glasses back on, frowning.  "There was a distinct…odor in the air, and he was wearing what looked remarkably like a protection amulet."

"So bugle boy knows a few tricks," she mused.  "Do you think he's dangerous?"

The Watcher shook his head.  "I think he's scared, frankly.  I got the impression the amulet was to protect him from you.  He's quite frightened of you, Buffy."

She couldn't help the smile that crossed her face.  "Fear is good," she stated.  "That'll make getting information from him easier."  Jumping to her feet, the Slayer began making shooing motions toward the door.  "OK, meeting adjourned.  Go to work, Giles, and Xander, go do…whatever it is you do.  Will and I have to get dressed."  When neither of the two men moved, she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.  "That was me being polite about you leaving so that Willow and I can talk about boys."

That did the trick.  As soon as they were out the door, Buffy whirled to face her best friend.  "OK, dish.  Where'd you go?  What'd you do?  What happened?  Details!"

"He took me to this planetarium, and it was amazing!" Willow rushed, the excitement of her afternoon coming through in her voice.  "I never realized how far technology has come, or how jaded we've gotten about what we take for granted every time we look in the night sky.  Did you know---?"

"Obviously, I didn't make myself clear enough," the blonde interrupted.  "I want kissing boy details, not boring science details."

The young witch smiled coyly.  "What makes you think there was any kissing?"

"Well, that big ol' hickey on your neck is a huge clue."

"Ohmigod, where?"  Willow whirled to look at herself in the mirror, pulling her collar aside to expose the red mark shining proudly from the curve of her neck.  "Please tell me you have some make-up that will help cover this.  Mr. Lombardi will kill me if he sees it."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it."  Buffy began digging through her bag.  "So, was it fun?"

"You have no idea."  Her face softened.  "Gino's just not like any other guy I know.  I mean, he's so polite, and sweet, and he keeps saying he's dumb but he's not, not really.  OK, maybe I do have to explain some things more than once to him, but he's just so eager to learn, and have I mentioned what a great kisser he is?  And those muscles…"  Her voice trailed off as Buffy just gazed at her.  "What?  What is it?"

"Still going to say you're not in over your head?" the Slayer asked gently.

Willow bit her lip.  "Guess I'm bounding with just a little too much enthusiasm here, huh?"

"Just a tad."

She sighed.  "It's a good thing Giles isn't seeing this.  I'd probably get lectured."

"On what?"

"I dunno," Willow shrugged.  "I'm sure he'd think of something."

*************

Nothing was going to shatter his good mood tonight.  The planetarium idea had come off better than he'd hoped, the joy in Willow's eyes illuminating her from within as she'd dragged him from display to display, chattering away the entire time.  When they'd finally hit the auditorium with the overhead projection of the night sky, she hadn't even hesitated to curl herself into his shoulder, making that little sigh of delight he was coming to know so well, her hand playing over his thigh.  More than once, Gino had been afraid that she would stray too high and discover the arousal he couldn't hide, but then again, a small part of him had almost hoped she would.  He blushed just thinking about it.

The familiar presence at his elbow caused the bouncer to glance down, mostly out of habit.  "Hey, Spike," he said automatically, and had turned back to face the crowd before he realized what he'd said.  His wide black eyes jerked back to stare down at the suited blond.  "Spike!  What're you doin' here?  In case you've forgotten, Mr. Lombardi fired you last night, remember?"

The vampire chuckled and patted Gino's shoulder reassuringly.  "Don't get your knickers in a twist.  I'm not here to work."  His azure gaze began scanning the women around the room.  "Tonight, I'm a paying customer."

"What about Mack?"

"Bastard's still out cold in the hospital.  He'll never know I was here."

"But his boys are here," the dark-haired bouncer said, nodding toward the bar.

Spike glanced over at the two men sipping their drinks and shrugged.  "Harris won't touch me," he said simply.  "And if Harris won't, neither will the other guy."  Out of the corner of his eye, he looked up at his ex-partner.  "So, I hear tell you and Red had yourselves a little date this afternoon.  And, since you've got a bigger smile than the Cheshire cat, I'm goin' to say it went pretty well.  Am I right?"

Gino laughed.  "It went so well, I'm not even going to give you hell for calling her Red again, and not Willow."

The blond vampire joined in the merriment, and both men were chuckling as Buffy emerged from the dance floor, her head tilted as she marched up to the pair in the doorway.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, facing off with her lover.

"Fancied a bit of dancin'," Spike said, the light from overhead catching the glitter in his blue eyes.

"You're supposed to be doing research."  She wanted to sound annoyed, but couldn't, the very sight of him sending her stomach into flip-flops.

"Well, I figured since you got out of doin' it this afternoon…"  He stepped forward, his hand curling around Buffy's waist, pulling her closer so that he could nuzzle her neck.  "…it's only fair I get out of doin' it tonight."

Her eyes fluttered shut as his lips made contact with her skin, searing a path to the line of her jaw before nibbling on the lobe of her ear.  "I hardly call this fair," she murmured, but melted against him, her hand coming up to play with the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

Behind them, the burly bouncer watched as the couple floated out onto the dance floor, barely able to keep their hands to themselves.  It hadn't been that long ago he had thought Spike was the luckiest guy on earth; now, he knew that wasn't true.  With Willow in his life, there was no way anyone was luckier than Gino.

*************

"I still say we should take him out back," he mumbled, sending daggers with his eyes to Spike's tuxedoed back on the dance floor.

"And I told you, we do nothing until Mack tells us to," Xander replied.  He didn't really like this guy he had to work with; Marty was everything the young man had hated when he was in high school---mean-spirited, a lech, and dumb to boot.  But, for as long as they had to play make-believe in the painting world, he was going to have to put up with it.  At least he had seniority.  For once in his life, the asshole had to listen to him for a change.

There was a moment of silence as the two men sipped their drinks, and then Xander heard a low whistle at his side.  "Would you look at the gams on that one…" Marty said, grinning lasciviously.

"Where?"  He followed his partner's gaze out past the girls on the floor, over to a table against the back wall, where an elderly gentleman was buying a pack of… "You mean, Willow?" he asked, incredulous.

"You think she's on the roster yet?"

"No! She is definitely _not on the roster!"  Boy, Xander was glad that Buffy had filled him in on that little detail. _

"Too bad," Marty commented.  "But that sure as hell didn't stop you last time, did it?"  He elbowed his partner in the ribs with a knowing grin.

"I don't know what in hell you're talking about," he protested, half-hoping for the whole story, but his partner only laughed, shaking his head as he moved further down the bar and toward a pack of young women.  Gonna have to find out about that one, Xander thought.  'Cause somethin' don't smell right in Mayberry…

*************

Gino glanced down at his watch.  Three more minutes.  It was going to seem like forever.  Why had he agreed to wait for so long?  Because she asked you to, he answered himself.  And if Willow asks, you just do it.  

It had been an arrangement they had made after leaving the planetarium this afternoon.  Neither of them really wanted to go into work, and the kissing outside her apartment door had started getting quite heavy.  He'd shocked himself when his hand had come up and cupped her breast, but he'd been even more shocked when the young redhead had answered his touch by running her free hand down the length of his hardened cock, outlining it beneath his trousers.

Gino had broken away then, pushing Willow back by her shoulders, staring down at her as he struggled to get his breath.  She was just as flushed as he was, and when her tongue darted out to lick her lips, it was all he could do not to just scoop her into his arms and take her then and there in the hall.  It must've been obvious in his face, because she stepped back, reaching for the doorknob, green eyes almost black from the dilation of her pupils.

"My break tonight," she'd said.  "When I go back, wait five minutes, then come back to the dressing room.  I'll make sure no one's around."

He'd only nodded, words escaping him, and he watched as she slipped inside the apartment, her eyes never leaving him as she closed the door between them.  It hadn't seemed that long then; after all, what was five minutes?  Well, now he knew the answer.  

Five minutes was an eternity.

*************

She couldn't help her grin when the knock came to the dressing room door.  "Come in!" Willow called out, and bent down to check out her hair and make-up in the mirror one last time.  Not that it was going to make a difference because in about five seconds, Gino was going to be kissing her, but still…A girl had to look her best.

"Just the dame I was looking for."

The voice was not the one she'd been expecting, and Willow straightened, a frown furrowing her brow as she turned to look at the man standing in the doorway.  It took her a second to place him, and then remembered…Xander's partner.  What had he said his name was?  Started with an M…

"You were…looking for me?" she said, as calmly as she could manage.  Mike?  No…Mark…?

"I was hoping to get a deck of Luckies," he said smoothly, entering the dressing room the rest of the way, allowing the door to glide shut behind him.

"Actually, I'm on break right now," Willow replied, edging slightly away.  Not Mark…Marty!  She smiled.  "I've got about ten more minutes so if you want, _Marty, I'll make sure you're my very first customer as soon as I go back out front."_

"Actually, I lied.  I'm not interested in cigarettes."  He kept walking closer to her, cracking his knuckles surreptitiously in front of him.  

"You're not?"  It came out more like a squeak than comprehensible words, and the redhead swallowed hard to try and regain control over her voice.

"Xander says you're quite the dish."

She blushed, a combination of embarrassment and trepidation.  "Well…Xander's been known to make up stories.  You know how he is.  All talk, no action.  Likes to look important.  Tries to…impress…people…"  Her words faded away as Marty pressed her into the edge of the dressing table, forcing her to lean backward in order to escape his drunken breath.  She was frightened now, her heart hammering in her chest, and her green eyes kept darting to the closed door of the dressing room.  Where are you, Gino? she pleaded silently.  Please oh please be early…

Marty's hand shot out, grabbing her by the back of her neck, bending her back toward him.  "See, now, I think I have to disagree with that assessment," he oozed, his tongue licking across her cheek before sinking his teeth into the flesh along her jaw.

Willow flinched, hands coming up to push against his chest, trying desperately to break the contact between them.  "You…better stop…" she warned.  "Or I'll---."

"You'll what?  Scream?"  He smiled, baring his crooked teeth, his face only inches from hers.  "See, now that's how I know Xander wasn't lying.  He said you were a dame who liked to be…persuaded."

*************

Her scream split the air in the hallway, cleaving it as sharply as if it were a scythe, and Gino's whistle stopped in his throat, only one word echoing through his head…

…Willow…

*************

The door flew open, crashing against the rails behind it, and Marty froze, the redhead struggling in his arms.  "Get out, Gino," he growled, pulling her back away from the door.  "We're just having ourselves a little bit of fun here.  Don't need an audience."  His eyes widened as the hulking bouncer rushed him, and he shoved against the girl, sending her reeling at the wall so that he could face the onslaught with both hands.  Both men went down in a tumble, an ebony mass as one jacket blended with another, skin merged with skin, fist fused with fist.

For a second, everything went black for Willow as her head met the solidity of the wall, and she felt her muscles turn to jelly as she sank to the floor.  She could still feel his hands on her skin, could see the death in Gino's eyes, and opened her own as quickly as she could manage, only to squeeze them shut again as the world swam before her.  Nausea swirled up from her stomach, and she heaved, thankful that she hadn't eaten anything recently, the wretching only making the pounding in her head all that much more intense.  Breathe…in…out…breathing is good…in…out…

The heavy grunts of the two men slowly broke through her consciousness, and Willow braved looking again, squinting as the dots danced before her eyes.  She couldn't tell…couldn't see…one hand…another…Gino on top…his black eyes blazing…and the other…scrambling for control…reaching…

…And her own eyes widened as she caught the glint of metal, her mouth opening…

…the shot ringing through the now too-small dressing room…

"Noooooo!" she screamed as Gino's burly form collapsed on top of the other man…

To be continued in Chapter 25: This Is Worth Fighting For…


	25. This Is Worth Fighting For

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  The only thing new that Xander and Giles learned about Tony is that he does magic, while Gino has saved Willow from a physical assault, only to get shot himself…

*************

He didn't need vampiric senses to hear the gunshot from the back of the club.  In his arms, Buffy stiffened, both of them freezing on the dance floor, eyes meeting with instant understanding, and with only that moment's hesitation, they both broke into a run for the rear exit.

In spite of the hindrance of her skirt, the Slayer was the first to reach the open door of the dressing room, hazel gaze widening as she drank in the scene before her.  Gino lay prone on top of Xander's partner, a dark pool of blood already beginning to form on the floor beneath him, while a sobbing Willow was crawling on her hands and knees toward them, scarlet-stained hands pulling desperately at the bouncer's jacket as she tried to roll him over.  The whimpering that was coming from the redhead's throat bounced between the walls, creating pockets of pain that seemed to hang in the air, taking on a life of its own as it struggled to escape the tiny room.  

Buffy must've made a sound because her friend's green eyes swivelled to look at her, and through her tears, begged, "Help me."  

 The blonde needed no further encouragement.  Darting forward, she scooped Gino into her arms, lifting him as gently as she could, and rolled him over onto his back, allowing the man underneath him to scramble free.  Willow was on the bouncer in a flash, fingers clawing at his shirt, heedless of the blood that was staining her uniform.  

"God…please don't…" she sobbed, almost holding her breath as she found the spot on his neck for which she'd been searching.  There was a moment of silence, and then… "He's still breathing…ohmigod…Buffy, we've got to get him out of here…"

The Slayer looked across at her best friend, at the worry etched across her face like glass, shiny tracks down her cheeks.  "We will," she reassured.  "He'll be OK.  I promise."  She knew she really had no place to be saying such a thing, but the grief that tore Willow's eyes was almost more than she could bear.  

"What is it?  What happened?"  

Glancing back over her shoulder, Buffy saw Xander rush up and join Spike in the doorway, effectively blocking any exit the other guy might make.  "Gino's been shot," she hurried.  "We have to get him to a hospital.  Now."  Ignoring the wide-eyed stare of Willow's attacker, she scooped the bouncer up into her arms and headed for the doorway, the redhead right on her heels.

Once the two women were gone, the blond vamp crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Marty who cowered on the other side of the room.  "Right then," he said, his voice a dangerous rumble, "care to tell us what exactly happened here?"

"Did you see that?" Marty asked of Xander, ignoring Spike completely.  "She just carried him out of here like he was nothing!"

"Yeah, I saw it, and you haven't answered the man's question."  His jaw was locked, his voice just as dangerous as the vampire's.  "What the hell happened in here?"

"I just came back for a little fun.  That mug interrupted me with the redhead, then jumped me out of nowhere.  You've seen how big he is; I had to defend myself."  He seemed to be gaining confidence, straightening as he spoke, stepping forward just a bit closer to the pair in the doorway.

"Whaddaya mean, he interrupted you?  What were you and Willow doing?"

Marty grinned.  "I decided to see if she was as good as you said she was, and you know what?  She did with me exactly what you said she did with you."

Xander's eyes widened.  "Oh, please, enlighten me."

"C'mon, you know what I'm talking about.  The whole saying no thing when she really means yes?  I almost believed her for a second there.  'Course, that only made it more fun."

It took a moment for what his partner had said to sink in, but when it did, his jaw dropped.  "You think I...Fun?  Where do you get off saying such crap?"

"You told me yourself---."  

He never got to finish the sentence.  Bolting from his position in the door, Xander rushed forward, his fist lashing out, connecting with an audible thump on the other man's jaw.  He winced from the sudden pain in his knuckles, but struck out again, this time landing somewhere in Marty's abdomen, thankful for the years of fighting demons at the Slayer's side.  Sure, he'd taken his share of knocks, but at least he knew how to get in a good punch, and this guy was only human.

Spike saw the slight movement of the would-be attacker's hand and knew that it would escape Xander's notice, leaping forward to twist the gun from the lackey's grip before he could use the weapon.  Tossing it casually behind him, the blond vamp smiled, just before his leg shot out, barrelling into the mortal's chest, sending him halfway across the room to crash into the far wall.

"Hey!" Xander said, turning a frowning gaze to Spike.  "What're you doing?"

The vamp's brows knitted, azure eyes staring intensely at the other man.  "Well, let's see.  He attacked Red and he shot Gino.  What do you soddin' think I'm doin'?"

There was a moment as they regarded each other, brown eyes to blue.  "If you hold him first," Xander finally said, "you can have a go at him when I'm done."

Spike's lips twisted in pleasure, and he nodded.  "Deal."

*************

The hallway was cold, the bench even colder, and Buffy shivered, squeezing her arms tighter against her in an attempt to preserve what little body heat she had.  She had run out without her jacket, concentrating only on getting the bouncer to safety, the realization that she was without her own coat escaping her until they were well on their way in the ambulance

God, she hated hospitals, but there was no way she could stay out of this one, not with her best friend needing her so badly right now.  Willow hadn't let go of Gino's hand the entire trip over, murmuring words of assurance in his ear while gently brushing the hair away from his forehead.  He was still unconscious, but the paramedics had managed to stem the flow of blood, steadying his ragged breathing enough so that the immediate danger wasn't quite as critical as the Slayer had originally believed.  She still didn't like his color, though; she'd seen enough people die to know when to worry.

As much as she hated to admit it, Giles' warnings about the purpose of the painting seemed to be tolling true, wreaking destruction in its vengeful wake.  Willow had been happier than she'd seen her in ages, and now…

But, as much as she liked Gino, it wasn't about him that Buffy was really worrying.  How long had it been since she herself had been this blissful?  There had already been at least two attempts on her and Spike's lives, and she suspected that the wonkiness of his chip could also be attributed to the picture's objectives.  Yes, they'd been lucky so far, but how long would that last?  And now with Giles and Xander here as well…well, there were only so many people the Slayer could protect at once.  At least in Sunnydale, the dangers were predictable…vampires, demons, the occasional rogue human.  Here, they came out of nowhere.

She heard his footsteps first, but by the time Buffy could look up, he was already standing before her, his long trench soaking from the rain, platinum hair curling at the crown.  His head was tilted as he looked down at her, the sapphire gaze softened, and she was in his arms before she could blink, crushed to his chest, oblivious to the moisture under her cheek.  

"Shhh," Spike crooned, more of a vibrato in his body than actual words, and he stroked her golden tresses, smoothing them away from her cheeks as the tears she'd been so desperately trying to hold back began to flow.  They just stood there for a moment, locked in solace, clinging to their own happiness like a life preserver, each praying they would be luckier than the unfortunate redhead and her bouncer boyfriend.

"How's Gino?" the vampire finally asked, the words a gentle cadence almost lost against her velvety skin.

"Alive, if that counts for anything," Buffy replied.  "The bullet went into his stomach, so at least his heart and lungs are OK, but there's no exit wound, so it's still somewhere in there.  They're going to operate to get it out as soon as he's a little more stable."

"And Red?"

"The nurse is letting her stay with him until they take him down to the operating room.  That's where she is now."  She broke from his arms, suddenly feeling very much alone, and sat back down on the bench, sighing heavily as she leaned forward and rested her head on her hands.  "She's absolutely broken, Spike.  I've never seen her like this before.  Even when Oz left, she at least knew he was alive somewhere out there, even if he didn't think he could be around her right then.  Now…"

The blond vamp laid his coat over the back of the bench before settling down next to her, long hand massaging the tight muscles of her shoulder.  "He's a strong bloke, Buffy.  He'll pull through this."

"I don't know," the Slayer murmured, shaking her head.  "You didn't see him."  She frowned, raising her hazel gaze to look at him.  "What happened back at the Sun?"

"Xander and I took care of the wanker who attacked Red," Spike said simply.  "He's not goin' to be botherin' anyone for a long time."

"Did he say why he did it?"

The vampire shrugged.  "We didn't give him much chance to talk."  As much as he knew Buffy needed to know, Spike had seen the guilt that punctuated each of Harris' hits, blaming himself and the faux history the painting had created for him for what had happened to Willow.  Only Xander could be the one to try and explain it, when and if the right time came.

"I wish I could've been there," the Slayer said bitterly.  "Give him the ol' one-two."

"Red needed you here."  He smiled.  "Besides, I think we did just dandy on our own.  Bastard won't be walkin' any time soon, I can tell you that."  The memory of Marty's broken legs twisted underneath him as he and Xander had poured him into the alley filled the vampire with a heady sense of justice, intoxicating him as much now as it had then.  He only wished he could've finished the job, but no, Xander had been adamant about leaving him alive.  "This is between you and me," he'd said.  "I won't tell Giles, but you've gotta swear you won't touch him anymore."  It had been a simple promise to make; after all, he'd already made the same one to Buffy.

"We have to find the safety, Spike.  We have to get out of this place before it does any more…damage."  She leaned against his shoulder.  "I can deal with the death thing---I mean, hello, Slayer here, deal with death every single day.  It's the…making life miserable part that I hate.  What if…?"  Her voice trailed off, catching in her throat, the words going unspoken.

The same thoughts had been plaguing him, ever since Buffy had told him what the gang had learned about the bloody picture.  Sure, if it had been happening to anyone else, Spike didn't doubt he'd be getting a kick watching what wreckage it made of their lives, but this was his happiness it was messin' with here, and nothin' got away with that, not now, not ever, not if he had anything to say about it.  He'd only just found Buffy; he wasn't about to lose her now to some bleedin' vengeance painting.

"We'll do it," he promised, lips brushing against her hair and added silently, even if I have to bloody well kill everyone in this world to make it happen.

*************

She stared down at him, green eyes burning from the tears that seemed constant now, her nose blocked as she sniffled away the latest onslaught of salt.  For the first time since meeting him, Gino seemed small to her, insignificant against the stark white of the sheets, short lashes too dark on his pale skin, the ashen pallor in his cheeks relaying the severity of his condition to even the most ignorant onlooker.  His breathing was more even now, but Willow didn't kid herself that that meant he was any better; it just meant that, maybe, he was resting a little more peacefully.

She didn't know when she had fallen in love with the big guy, but the young witch was beginning to wish that she had stayed unaware just a little bit longer, anything to stop feeling this way…this hole that started in the pit of her stomach and ate its path upward…the overwhelming sense of impotence as she could only watch the lifeforce seep from his body…It wasn't fair, first Oz, now Gino; was she destined for every man in her life to leave her?

It was just a faint flutter, but it grabbed her attention right away, offering her the first smidgeon of hope since seeing the bouncer collapse.  She leaned over, brushing the hair back away from his eyes for the millionth time, forcing a smile to her lips as she said, "Hey, you.  Wake up for me, 'kay?  Please?"

There it was again, and this time Willow saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, slowly, deliberately, as if it was the first time he'd ever done it.  Try again.  "Gino, I'm right here.  Let me know you can hear me, sweetie."  

The breath stopped in her throat as his lashes separated, black eyes staring up, then sliding sideways to look at her worried face.  The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, his tongue darting out to lick his lips before speaking.  "You OK?" he croaked.

Her chest exploded in laughter, the incongruity of his question liberating the tension that had wound her up over the past hour, and the redhead buried her face in his shoulder, being careful not to jar the dark-haired bouncer more than necessary.  It took a moment for the giggles to fade, and he felt the shake of her head against the dull throb of his muscles.  He didn't understand what so funny; he had seen Mack's trouble boy pawing her with his own eyes, had heard her scream.  Why shouldn't he wonder if she was OK?

"Are you in any pain?" she was asking, lifting her head to scan his face.

And it was then that he remembered the gunshot, the sound of Willow's cry as the bullet tore into his gut, more of a surprise than real hurt, and the blackness that followed.  His gaze flickered to the sterile ceiling.  "I'm…in the hospital," he murmured.

"Yeah.  They've got to get the bullet out."  She couldn't---wouldn't---tell him how serious it actually was, not until she had nothing else to fight with.  And she wasn't there.  Not just yet.

"But…you're not…he didn't…"  Gino's mouth was too dry, the burning in his abdomen singeing his throat, stripping him of all his fluids, and he swallowed again in an attempt to clear it.

"I'm fine," Willow assured him.  "Spike and…"  Her voice trailed off.  Better not to mention Xander just yet, knowing how the bouncer felt about him.  "…Buffy showed up."

In spite of his discomfort, Gino smiled.  "Hope Spike did a number on him."

No way could she answer that, knowing what she did about the vampire's chip.  Better to change the subject.  "Do I get to have a raincheck for what we had planned for my break?" Willow asked with a small smile, trying desperately to keep her tone light.

He started to chuckle, only to wince as the strain on his diaphragm sent knives of pain slicing through his torso.  The redhead's smile vanished, only to be replaced by a frown, hands going to his shoulders as if to hold him down, almost as if the act of laughter would somehow worsen his condition.  "Guess I better not make with the funnies 'til you feel better."

"No…funnies are good.  It's the laughing part that's bad."

Her smile returned, but it was only on the outside; the knowledge that he was about to undergo major surgery that would hopefully save his life just refused to go away, even for a minute.  She felt so helpless; there had been nothing she could about Oz, and now…with Gino…it was all in the doctor's hands.

…Or was it?  The first flicker of an idea began to burn behind her green eyes, and Willow grabbed onto it, clutching it to her chest as if to protect it from extinguishing, fanning the flame with her hope.  Tenderly, she leaned over, brushing a gentle kiss over Gino's mouth, the surprise of delight shining in his black eyes.  Yes, she had to try.  She couldn't lose this man as well, not after she'd only just found him…

*************

She'd almost been asleep, her lids drifting closed, the ether of slumber threatening to overtake her, when the shadow passed in front of the window, followed almost immediately by a second…and then a third.

Straightening in the chair, Anya's senses went into alert, head leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse of whoever it was had stopped at Giles' front door, her heartrate tripling when she saw the familiar form of an Injopa demon raise its claws to rake at the door's hinges.  Brown eyes widening, she snatched up the painting from the desk, being careful to touch it only by the frame, and made a dash for the bathroom, locking it behind her before climbing into the bathtub and pulling the curtain.

Not good, she intoned silently.  Not good, not good.  Injopa demons were notorious thieves, rented out to the highest bidder, and the only thing Giles had of any real value in the entire apartment now rested against the faucet here in the tub, the plug in the drain stopping it from sliding across the white porcelain.  Anya glared at the painting, focusing her frustration at the suited form of her boyfriend.  This is all your fault, she thought.  If you'd just listened to me in the first place, I wouldn't be here right now about to get my throat ripped out by a demon with an attitude.

The sound of a door being ripped from its frame echoed from outside the bathroom, followed quickly by the guttural grunts of the would-be thieves as they began ransacking the lounge.  For a split second, she almost wished she'd left the damn picture out there for them to find, but deep in her heart, Anya knew she couldn't have done it.  Not with Xander stuck inside it…the jerk.

The sounds began to come nearer, their voices sending shivers through her skin, and she realized…she was trapped.  Why couldn't you live someplace that had a back door, Giles? she accused.  It would only be a matter of time before they found her, and what they would do then was no mystery to the ex-vengeance demon.  Injopas were notorious for torturing humans who stumbled across their paths.  She would be killed, right after they eviscerated her, right after one of them probably raped her.  Oh joy.

There really was only one route of escape, and Anya closed her eyes, shaking her head, her anger beginning to redirect itself.  You better appreciate this, Xander, she thought, and reached out to place her palm directly onto the canvas…

To be continued in Chapter 26: Shall We Dance…


	26. Shall We Dance

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Gino has been taken to the hospital in critical condition, while Anya has been cornered in Giles' apartment with only one means of escape…

*************

The crowd was starting to thin, the girls one by one pairing off with customers, and Xander sipped at his drink as he watched Giles turn away from the microphone for the last time that night.  His hands hurt, the knuckles on his right slightly torn from the repeated punches he'd thrown at Marty, but the thing that bothered him the most right now wasn't physical.

This is a sick, sick world, he grumbled.  In spite of the warnings they'd had, in spite of the little time they'd actually been here, Xander hadn't quite been prepared for the level of badness that they'd been hit with.  Killing a demon was one thing; knowing you were the reason your best friend got assaulted was something else entirely.  Beating the other man had offered him a moment of respite from his guilt, and, he had to admit, watching Spike finish off the job, knowing the vampire's punches were so much more lethal than his own, had given him a twisted thrill, but now that it was all said and done, the fact still remained…Gino was in the hospital and Willow had almost been raped because of Xander.

Giles mopped at the sweat on his forehead as he approached the bar.  "Scotch, neat," he said to the bartender, before turning to face his young friend.  "You haven't had bad news, have you?" he asked quietly.

Xander shook his head.  "Buffy called.  Will's pretty shaken up 'cause that Gino is getting operated on, but apparently the paramedics were able to do some good for him before they got to the hospital."

"Paramedics?"  The Watcher sipped cautiously at his drink, a frown between his eyes.  "Odd.  Those aren't indigenous to this time period.  In fact, if memory serves, they weren't in common practice until after---."

"Giles!"  The anger and frustration rang out in the young man's voice, a bitter rasp as he lashed out at the Englishman.  "We're not exactly in Kansas anymore, remember?  I don't think the history review is one-hundred percent accurate for this place anyway.  It may look kinda like home and it may quack kinda like home, but this sure as hell doesn't mean it _is home.  And right now, I've had about as much as I can stand of alternate demon dimensions.  I just want to get the hell out of Dodge and back to my drippy, cramped little basement hellhole, because at least there, I don't have to see Willow look at me like I'm devil spawn."_

Giles regarded him over the rim of his glass.  "It's not your fault, Xander," he soothed.

"Yeah, well, it sure as hell feels like my fault," the younger man muttered, downing the rest of his drink in one gulp before slamming the empty tumbler onto the counter.  He rubbed tiredly at his eyes.  "One good thing, at least I don't have to face Anya's I-told-you-so's about this place.  I think that would just about send me over the edge right now."

"Great show, Mr. Giles."  The voice came from behind him, and the Watcher turned around to see a smiling Sammy hovering at his elbow.  "Buffy sure was right about you.  You're the best torcher we've had around here since that dame who ran off with the shylock."

"Um, thank you," the Englishman murmured.  

"Yeah, between you and the replacement Mr. Lombardi got for Ms. Summers, this joint is going to be back on top in no time," Sammy continued.

"He got a replacement for Buffy?" Xander queried.

"Oh, yeah, well, he had to with Spike pulling her from the roster and all.  I mean, she was our biggest draw.  Things have slowed down considerably around here ever since she went off the market.  Still, Mr. Lombardi managed to pull some strings and wangle a good deal in order to get Ms. Jenkins away from the Honey Bunny downtown."

Xander had turned away, about to motion to the bartender to come over to refill his drink, when the young manager's words finally sunk in.  Very slowly, he swivelled back.  "Did you say…Ms. Jenkins?"

"Sure," Sammy chimed.  "Mr. Lombardi's going over the ropes with her right now.  And boy are we lucky to get her.  Next to Ms. Summers, Anya Jenkins is the best pro skirt on the circuit."

*************

He didn't even bother to knock, just shoved the door open and marched inside, hands balled into fists in his pockets.  Perched on the corner of his desk, Lombardi yanked the cigarette out of his mouth, about ready to bark at the intruder, only to freeze at the sight of Xander.

"Thought you'd gone home for the night, Mr. Harris," he started.

He ignored the older man, instead stepping straight for the chair that sat before the desk, grabbing the arm of the woman who sat there, and pulling her to her feet.  "What're you doing here?" he demanded.

Anya just stared back at him.  "It's good to see you, too, Xander," she said dryly.

Lombardi frowned.  "You two know each other?"

"Sometimes, I wonder," the young man muttered.  "You mind if I talk to her for just a sec?"

"Sure, be my guest."  He watched as Harris pulled the newest recruit over to the corner of the room, turning his back to the desk so that they could have a little privacy.  With Mack still in the hospital, his right-hand man was now the bigshot around here; no way was he going to ruffle those feathers, not after what he'd heard had happened to Marty.

"Decide you were in the mood for a little vacation?" Xander asked.

"If you must know, it was either certain death by staying or maybe death by coming through.  I chose the maybe."

"What happened?"

"Some demons broke into Giles' apartment to steal the painting---."

"Whoa.  What were you doing at Giles'?"

"Looking for you, bonehead."  Anya folded her arms across her chest defiantly.   "Not that it matters, but I was starting to get worried when you didn't call.  I just wanted to see if you were actually stupid enough to come after Buffy and Willow."

Xander set his jaw and held up a warning finger.  "OK, _so not the time for this."_

"Have you at least figured out who the safety is?"

"We're still working on that…"

"What?"  Her voice rose louder than Xander liked, and he glanced back over his shoulder at Lombardi, checking to make sure he wasn't listening.  "You've been here for two days.  What the hell have you been doing?  Dancing?"

"It's a little more complicated than that, Ahn.  Things have been…happening…"

"It's a good thing I'm here then.  Somebody needs to give you guys a good kick in the pants, and let me just say, I _really want to be that somebody right now.  I have no plans on going down with the ship here."_

"Neither do we."  Behind him, Lombardi cleared his throat, reminding them of his presence, and Xander lowered his voice even further.  "Let me just take care of this roster thing and we'll get out of here to do some planning."

"Yeah, what's with that anyway?" Anya asked.  "Smokey over there has been gushing for the last half hour about how glad he is that I'm on the roster here now, and how privileged he is that I'm one of his girls."

"Apparently, it's your job here.  Girls on the roster have to sleep with the customers."

There was a long moment of silence and he watched as the small line formed between his girlfriend's brows as her brain whirled into overdrive.  That was one thing he really liked about Anya; you could always tell when she was thinking.

"And I'd get paid for that?" she queried, and all of a sudden, Xander didn't like how her voice had changed, taking on that familiar capitalist twang that he was coming to know so well.  "So basically, being on the roster would mean having all the sex I want, and then taking their money."

His eyebrows shot up.  "What happened to kicking us in the pants?"

"Can't I do both?"

"That would be a big fat no."  He turned on his heel to face Lombardi.  "When is she supposed to start?" he asked, jerking his head toward Anya.

"I got her on for tonight.  There's a couple high rollers out front who'd love---."

"Book her for me."  Anya stared up at her boyfriend with wide eyes, not entirely recognizing this new and forceful Xander. 

The older man began squirming, uncomfortable with the order.  "Well, now, Mr. Harris, I'd love to, but---."

"I'll pay you twice her going rate."  Thank god he was in charge of Mack's finances while he was in the hospital, he thought.

The gleam of money-loving delight shone in Lombardi's eye, and he smiled.  "I've got to admit, I do like your style," he commented before sliding around to the back of the desk.  He grabbed his ledger and settled his bulk into the chair.  "And after Gino got shot, I thought this night was going to be a bust," he said dryly.  "Now, I got the best in the biz on my roster, and a plan on how to replace Gino in the works.  I'd say life is pretty darn good."

************

She didn't want to get out, but Buffy knew that if she spent any longer in the tub, she'd shrivel into a prune.  Whoever invented bubble bath deserves a lifetime supply of chocolate, she thought as she pulled out the plug.  The sucking of the water as it went down the drain pulled her from her reverie, destroying the shroud she'd wrapped herself in to numb herself from the evening's events.  Back to the real world, she sighed silently, and then hastily corrected herself.  Back to the _painting world._

Willow was still at the hospital, having refused their offer to take her home.  "I need to be here in case something happens," she'd said.  Even Buffy's suggestion that she run back with a change of clothes had been met with rejection and the flat statement that she'd call Xander and have him run over her bag from the club.  Neither of them liked the look on the redhead's face, the lines that suddenly seemed to appear around her eyes, the hollows in her cheeks, but they knew there was nothing more that they could do…not just then.

Spike had been the one to suggest the bath, gently steering her toward her bedroom in spite of her protests.  Buffy had begged for him to join her, but he'd been adamant.  "You need to relax," he'd said.  "And we both know if I go in there, relaxin' will be the last thing that happens."

As usual, the blond vampire had been right, and the Slayer had lost herself in the liquid paradise, scrubbing the dried blood from her skin until she was striated in crimson, leaning back against the porcelain rim to allow the water to just envelop her.  She'd almost fallen asleep at one point, although if someone had pressed her on it, she wouldn't have been able to tell them what she'd been thinking.  It was easier to just not.

As she emerged from the steamy bathroom, the wet tendrils of her hair clinging to her shoulders, Buffy was disappointed to see that the room was deserted, curtains drawn against the night sky, the bed still fully made.  Part of her had been hoping to find Spike there, maybe already sleeping, so that she could crawl up next to him, press herself into his flesh.  But that impulse was going to be denied.  Hard to act on someone if they weren't there.

She didn't have to look far.  When she opened her door, the first thing she saw was the cloud of smoke that hovered in the air over the couch, the red flare of his cigarette the only illumination in the room.  "Spike?" she called softly, taking a step inward.

She heard his soft exhalation, saw the wisps drift over his head.  "Feel better, luv?" he asked.  His voice was soft, slightly slurred, and as the Slayer peered into the darkness, she saw the empty tumbler resting on the coffee table, a bottle of whisky sitting next to it.

"Much.  Thank you."  Buffy took another step, and now she could see the pale gleam of his chest where it lay bared beneath his opened shirt, untucked from his trousers, the top button of those undone.  He was lying back, platinum head propped against the arm rest, and the tip of his cigarette sent scarlet shadows dancing across the planes of his face, disguising his eyes in blackness while highlighting the fullness of his bottom lip.

"Red's in love with him, y'know."  

It was a flat statement of fact, but she didn't see where it had come from.  What's eating at him? she wondered.  "I know," she admitted.  "She didn't tell me as much, but it was pretty obvious."

"She's just not havin' a good year, is she?" said Spike, ending it with a harsh chuckle.  "First wolfboy leaves, now Gino…"

Buffy watched as he sat up and leaned forward, stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray in front of him, taking with it the only light in the room.  Her eyes had adjusted now, so she could still make out his outline, but the details were lost to her.

"What happens when we get out of here, Buffy?"

The question took her by surprise, and the young woman saw that he wasn't even looking at her, holding his head in his hands, fingers entwining in his blonde curls.    "She'll go on," she replied.  "She has to."

"I wasn't talkin' about Red."  As he stood up, she heard the soft clink of his belt settling, and her eyes followed his body as he walked, slightly crooked, to the record player, searching through the stack of albums at its side before dropping one onto the turntable.  There was a moment, and then a scratch as the needle hit the vinyl, the music filtering into the room only seconds later.  

His head tilted as he looked over at her, face hidden in darkness.  "Dance with me," he said.  It wasn't a request; it wasn't an order…it was an invitation, and Buffy felt her feet moving toward the blond vampire even before she could consciously decide.  Not that it would've been a no, but her body was more attuned to his needs than her head was, and it wasn't about to refuse him.

Her body melted against his, the rhythm of the orchestration guiding her feet, and she laid her cheek against his chest, the cotton of his shirt sliding enough away so that it was skin against skin…heat against ice…life against death…

"Don't want to lose this," Spike mumbled, nuzzling her damp hair, inhaling her scent as if it was as vital to him as blood.  She could smell the alcohol on his breath, almost as intoxicating as if she'd drunk it herself, and wondered again what was wrong.

"You won't," she murmured, and felt his arms tighten around her, hands splaying across her sides.  

"Why…" she heard him whisper, mouth travelling to her temple, tongue darting out to trace the ever so slight indentation, feeling the echo of her pulse shudder down its length…into his throat…settling into his chest as if to substitute his own missing heartbeat.  

Was it even something she was supposed to answer?  He seemed so lost, drifting in the haze of whatever fugue was possessing him, and he clung to her, words lost as his lips returned to her hair.  "Spike…"

"Need you, Buffy…"

Those words she heard.  Stopping the movement of her feet, the young woman pulled back, sliding her hands up to the sides of the vampire's face, holding it away so that he was forced to look her in the eye.  "I love you," she said firmly, hoping that hearing the words would pull him back, moor him in the strength he'd shared with her at the hospital.  "And we can do this.  Because one plus one doesn't always equal two.  Sometimes…it equals everything."

His lips came crashing down to hers, the hunger not just physical, and she met him with equal force, tongues winding around the other, hands pulling at the clothes that separated them.  Buffy felt his muscles tremble under her fingers as his shirt slipped from his shoulders, and the pounding of her heart seemed to reverberate throughout her body as Spike pushed aside the satin of her robe to cup her bare breast in ice.  His thumb flicked over her hardened nipple, and she moaned into the kiss, her fingers working down his back, sliding under the loosened waistband of his trousers to skirt around its edges to the front.

She stepped back, eyes locked with his, and slowly pulled down the zipper, the metallic song lost in the brassy swell of the record, allowing his pants to drop silently to the floor.  He sprang free, already fully erect, and Buffy smiled.  "Have I mentioned yet how erotic it is that you go commando?" she teased. 

For the first time since she'd come out of the bathroom, Spike grinned.  "Just a matter of practicality," he growled.  "One less piece of clothing in the way for you to do…"  He hissed as her tiny hand suddenly grasped his arousal, its power almost overwhelming, before quickly releasing it, stepping forward to press her mouth to the hollow at the base of his throat.  "…that," he finished.

Buffy ignored him, tasting the icy tang of his skin as her tongue lapped down his chest, travelling to one nipple…catching it between her teeth…before moving to the other, and repeating the small bite.  When the vampire's hands came up to her hair, she batted them away, the small laugh suspending itself in the back of her throat.  "Just enjoy," she murmured, and finished the path downwards until she ended on her knees, her tongue outlining the sharp jut of his pelvis.  

He could feel the heat of her skin just inches away, infuriatingly near and yet so tantalizingly far, and could only watch as her golden head moved around him, the bud of her mouth circumventing contact as it skated over his hips and across the top of his thigh.  When Spike felt the fire between his legs, he growled, feeling her take the sac in her mouth, sucking with just enough force to make him feel like she was swallowing him.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides as the vampire fought to maintain control, his throbbing almost a living entity as it hovered mere inches from Buffy's mouth.  She was deliberately taking her time, savoring his taste, extending his pleasure, and Spike grabbed the edge of the nearby cupboard in an attempt not to just throw her to the ground and fuck her then and there.  

Buffy smiled.  Over the past few days, she had learned exactly what it was that sent the blond vampire most quickly to the edge, and oral stimulation was definitely high up on the list.  So was surprise…

She buried him in her throat before he even knew what was happening, small hands holding him close.  Spike gasped as the shudder ran down his body, eyes closing as she began sucking, taking her time, but not losing her rhythm…slowly…steadily.

The music stopped, but neither noticed, and it wasn't until Buffy sensed the quiver that signified his imminent explosion did she pull away, sitting back on her heels and shrugging her robe from her shoulders.  Even she could smell her pussy by this point, and, as soon as he looked down at her, blue eyes almost black with desire, the young woman dropped her hand ran a single finger around her moistness, coating it until it glistened in the dim light of the lounge.  Without breaking the lock on their gazes, Buffy lifted her hand in offering, index finger extended.

Spike's tongue darted out, running along the edge of his top teeth, the growl coming from his throat almost continuous by this point.  Reaching out, he wrapped his lean grip around her proffered wrist, pulling her to her feet, lowering his head until his mouth descended over the sticky digit, suckling at her finger as if it was his lifeblood.  She groaned as he slowly increased the pressure, his free hand seizing her waist, drawing her even closer against him so that their bare thighs pressed into the other's.  

When he finally released her finger, sliding up its length as slowly as she'd slid down his cock, Spike stepped away from the cupboard, pulling her along behind him as he crossed the distance to the bedroom, neither of them speaking a word.  Although she hated to admit it to herself, Buffy was torn, part of her desperately in need for the blond vampire to just bury himself within her, the other part knowing that he needed this to be about them and not about the act.  In spite of his earlier bravado…in spite of his cocky assurances that nothing could beat the Slayer with a vampire at her side…she knew that he was scared, rocked by the realization that Giles' information was holding true…_get what you want only to lose it…and the pair of them were already there, with no sign yet as to how to get out and escape the inevitable…_

She let him press her into the bed, a strong hand taking both of her wrists into its grasp and locking them over her head, his corded shoulders descending until his mouth met hers.  Their hips seemed to work of their own free will---her legs lifting, separating, wrapping around him…guiding him to her opening as their kiss deepened.  He filled her, and she sucked him in, until there was no place else to go but out…

The vibrato from both of their chests filled the room, a constant humming that to an outsider would've seemed almost like a purr, as Slayer and vampire crested the wave of their hunger.  In and out…the most natural rhythm in the world…manifesting itself as their bodies began to glisten with sweat, their coupling quickening, their kisses never ceasing.

When she felt the first tremors of her orgasm, Buffy was almost dismayed, reluctant to lose the intoxicating pounding of his cock.  She broke from his mouth to stare up into his eyes, drowning in their cerulean depths, whispering, "I love you, Spike," only to be rewarded with the gentle upturn of his mouth just before it lowered again to hers, swallowing her down as he used his free hand to cup her ass, forcing himself even deeper without ever breaking his pace.  

When she came, it was almost silently, a mere exhalation accompanying the fire that burned through her system like liquid smoke.  The vampire released her hands, and they sprang immediately to his back, clutching at him, holding him tighter, lost in her own personal oblivion as her every cell trembled.  That was all it took for him, and he plunged with one last stroke, burying himself as all thoughts of the evening were banished…all memories of the badness that had been surrounding them dissipating…and Spike pressed his lips to her neck, sucking at that spot---_his spot---while the world slipped away…leaving only the two of them…_

*************

She was alone in the front of the club, eyes darting around at the darkened room, the faint sounds of movement in the back echoing across the tiles.  She had hated lying to Buffy, but no way would her best friend have understood, not now, not in this place.  And there was just too much at stake for her to try and take the time to explain it.

As Willow hurried to the rear exit, the image of an unconscious Gino kept flitting past her mind's eye, the dark shadows under his eyes making him seem gaunt in spite of his bulk, his normally powerful hands now lying weakly against the gurney as the orderly wheeled him to the operating room.  They hadn't known how long it was going to take, but had been sure of one thing; it would not be quick.  That was the only reason she would've braved leaving just then; she had to ensure that she was back at the hospital before they were done.  She had to know what had happened.

She saw him as soon as she pushed open the door, his instrument case dangling from his hand as he hastily walked to the exit at the back of the club, and the redhead had to run in order to catch up to him, stumbling only once in the heels she so detested but ignoring the pain in her ankle as she grabbed at his coat sleeve.

Tony stopped, turning to see who it was that was clinging to him, his spectacled gaze widening slightly as he recognized the young woman…one of the Slayer's friends.

Her green eyes fixed on his.  "Someone tells me you do magic," she said softly…

To be continued in Chapter 27: Apple Blossoms and Chapel Bells…


	27. Apple Blossoms and Chapel Bells

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Anya has come through the painting, Buffy has finally told Spike she loves him, and Willow has sought out Tony…

*************

He stared at her from behind his glasses, absorbing the blood-stained uniform, the darkening shadows under her eyes. She wasn't like the others.  The men from this afternoon had been almost as frightening as Spike, and his increasing worry about the Slayer and what she might do to him was causing him endless sleepless nights.  This one, though…There was a fragility about her that actually appealed to him, bringing out protective instincts he'd thought long ago slaughtered by Melinda, and Tony found himself actually stopping, listening to her, instead of running as far away as possible.  He'd always been a sucker for the damsel in distress routine.

"Hello?  Earth to bugle boy…"  Willow frowned, her hand dropping from his sleeve.  "Although…OK, technically not Earth, so…alternate demon dimension to Tony; come in, Tony."

His slight smile seemed genuine.  "I'm sorry.  What did you say?"

She waited as one of the other musicians passed behind her, answering his good-bye wave with a waggle of her fingers.  As soon as the pair was alone again, though, the redhead turned back to the trumpet player.  "Giles said you knew magic.  And, seeing as how he's usually right about these things---well, that and the fact that you're wearing a fraden protection amulet---I was hoping I could get you to help me with a spell."

The request was unexpected, not only because she was Buffy's friend which meant she should be trying to pump him for information on the painting---wasn't that what they were all trying to do?---but because Willow hardly seemed like the type to even _know anything about magic.  Of course, he quickly amended, hanging around the Slayer probably meant being exposed to more of the supernatural than the regular joe off the street.  God knew, he'd learned a helluva lot more than he ever expected by being with Melinda._

"I suppose it's really pointless for me to try and deny it, huh?" he said, with a wry grin.

Willow relaxed.  This was going much better than she'd anticipated.  Although she hadn't really had any encounter herself yet with the young trumpet player outside of falling on him, she'd gathered a first impression based on what the others had said, and now, it didn't seem to fit.  He actually seemed really nice.  "I've made my share of amulets in my time," she said, trying to set him at ease.

"What kind of spell are you thinking about?"  This was where he had to tread lightly.  For all he knew, this was just some huge trick on Buffy's part to try and get him to reveal what he knew about the safety, and he wasn't going to do that, no matter what they tried doing to him.  OK, so he didn't think he'd really be that strong under torture, but then again, not one of them had actually done anything more than push him around a bit.  Maybe getting physical wasn't part of their modus operandi.

"Well…it's a…kind of a…healing spell," she faltered.  

His gaze flickered over the dried patches on her clothes, remembering the gunshot from earlier, Sammy's announcement that Gino had been taken to the hospital.  She wanted to save the bouncer, although why, he had no idea.  "That's what hospitals are for," Tony said simply.  "You shouldn't mess around with those kind of magics."

He saw her harden before his eyes, the fine line of her jaw setting, green eyes beginning to blaze.  "Don't be telling me what I can and can't do," Willow averred.  "I wouldn't even be asking you if the only spell I know of that'll do the trick didn't require two people."  She had considered approaching Giles for his help, but she already knew what he would say.  The Watcher just wouldn't understand why she had to do this, would criticize her for losing focus on what they were trying to do.  And without her usual resources, she couldn't go looking for something she could do on her own.  This was her only option.

"Will you tell me why?" the musician asked.  "When we get home---" God, he'd almost said _if, had to be more careful… "---Gino's still going to be here.  Why go to the bother of saving him?"_

"Because he deserves better," Willow replied.  "And if I can do that for him, then I'm going to."  

Tony bit his lip as he contemplated her request.  He could probably figure out what spell she was thinking of, and she was right, she needed his help.  How skilled she actually was, he had no idea; for all he knew, she was just a novice with delusions of grandeur, although she _had recognized his amulet when she saw it.  And doing the spell with her was going to draw attention to himself, something he was desperately trying to avoid.  There were tons of reasons why he should turn her down, but there was one that almost demanded he say yes…_

"What's in it for me?"

Her eyes widened in surprise.  He wanted to be…paid?

The musician chuckled.  "Guess I should probably be more clear than that," he said.  "What I meant was, if I help you with this healing spell…would you help me with a spell of my own?"

His counteroffer sent the waves of guilt washing over her, and Willow swallowed as she tried to clear the lump from her throat.  She already felt bad enough about going behind Buffy's back to get Tony's help in the first place; now he wanted her to make it worse by helping him do something that would probably only piss her off even more?  "My turn to ask," she said.  "What kind of spell?"

Her anxiety must've shone through because his eyes widened behind his glasses.  "Oh, nothing bad," he hastily assured.  "Nothing that's going to hurt anyone.  I don't do that kind of magic."

"Well, then what?"

He blushed.  "A protection spell.  For me.  Talking to Mr. Giles today made me realize that these little accidents I've been having are going to keep on happening until I'm pretty much dead.  And I'd like to avoid that if I can.  I've been lucky so far, but that can't last forever."  He held his breath, taking the plunge.  "I know this spell that will help me get a heads up when my life is in danger, but it's pretty powerful stuff.  I can't do it on my own."  Fingers crossed, he thought.

She couldn't believe him.  Buffy will never forgive me, Willow thought.  It's one thing to want some help for the man I love; it's something else entirely to help someone who could potentially be a threat.  "Maybe you're right," she said out loud, slowly backing away.  "Maybe I shouldn't be messing around with that kind of magic.  My last spell kinda went kaplooie on me so there's no telling what this one would do."  She managed a weak smile, but felt her heart sink, the despair about Gino's condition returning as she realized she wasn't going to be able to help him after all.  It's not fair! her head raged.  It's just not fair…

Tony watched as the redhead slowly walked off, her head low, the slump in her shoulders unmistakeable.  She'd turned him down.  He wasn't sure if he was surprised by that or not, but regardless, it put him right back where he'd started.  Damn, he thought.  So close and yet so far…

*************

He had been awake for hours, listening to her breathe, the soft exhalations gossamer tendrils of warmth skimming along his bare chest.  His fingers itched to stroke the golden hair that splayed down his side, but Spike consciously reined in the urge, unwilling to shatter the spell by inadvertently waking Buffy and forcing the day to start.

She had said it.  She had actually said it.  Although he had known it, although he had believed her body when it heralded its feelings for him every time he touched her, part of the blond vamp couldn't believe the Slayer would, or even could, vocalize those emotions into something as concrete as, "I love you."  That was commitment.  That was admittance.  That was opening a door to problems and difficulties and wonderfulness that loving him would force upon her.  He knew she feared what the gang thought, and though he'd been chuffed when Buffy had stood up for him at the meeting the previous day, Spike also knew how much it was eating her up inside.  And that in turn, ate him.

Starting to drink after returning from the hospital had probably not been the brightest of ideas, letting loose the qualms and anxieties about their future that he'd been trying so desperately to contain.  But she had known, just like she always knew, and done exactly what he needed to allay those fears, offering him her body and her soul as guides through the darkness, drawing him safely to the other side.  It was just one of the reasons why he loved her.  One of the many.

The pounding seemed to come from far away, and it took Spike a moment to realize it was actually originating from the front door of their apartment.  Fuck, he thought.  Can only be Giles or Harris callin' at this hour.  When he felt Buffy begin to stir in his arms, he quickly shut his eyes, feigning sleep, hoping she wouldn't make him go get it.

"What's all the noise?" she murmured, snuggling in deeper into his chest.

The vampire made some indistinguishable sounds in his throat, continuing the pretense while the knocking went on, until finally Buffy sighed, rolling herself away, leaving him with only her warm pillow as a reminder of her presence.  He waited for the door to open and then close, before allowing his lips to curl as he rolled onto his side to face the window.  Too early for Scoobies, he thought.  Let Buffy deal with them.

He had almost drifted back to sleep when the bedroom door creaked open again, the soft step of the Slayer returning to the bed.  Instead of lying down again, though, he felt the feather touch of her hand on his face.  "Spike," Buffy murmured.  "Get up."

Bollocks, he thought, and let his eyes flicker open, settling on hers, noticing the thin set of her lips.  "What is it?" he asked.

She shook her head.  "You better come out here."

*************

Spike sauntered through the doorway, doing up the button on his trousers, ready to give Rupert a piece of his mind for disturbing them at such an ungodly hour.  He stopped in his tracks, though, when he saw Lombardi peering into the liquor cabinet, taking out the occasional bottle, only to shake his head and return it to its home.  A second man, this one tall and lean, hovered near the front door, but the blond vamp had no clue as to who the hell he was, or why he would look so uncomfortable.  

Buffy cleared her throat, diverting Lombardi's attention away from the alcohol, and Spike watched as his ex-boss turned to look at the pair of them, a huge smile on his face.  Well, damn if he doesn't look like the cat that ate the bleedin' canary, the vampire thought.  What has he been up to now?

"Well, don't ever have to worry about you two being on the nut," he commented, motioning extravagantly to the surroundings.  "Been a long time since I seen a place look this good."

"I know you didn't come by to comment on the décor," Spike growled, his eyes darting to the other man.  "Unless this is your personal decorator."

"Nope," said Lombardi.  "I got us a plan that's going to solve both of our problems."

"And what problems would those be?" Buffy asked, her annoyance shading her words in glassy hues.

He didn't even seem to notice, just settled his bulk onto the couch as he spoke.  "Your problem is Mack," he said.  "'Cause of Spike's temper here, you've pissed off a very powerful man, so things aren't goin' to be too kosher for you two until he's happy again.  On the other hand, my problem is that I'm now out my two best bouncers.  Gino's out of commission indefinitely, and in the current environment, I can't bring Spike back on board to fill in the gap."

"I just know you've got a point in there somewhere," the vampire drawled, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he gazed at the man steadily.

"You need to get Mack of your back, and I need you to come back to work.  Only way for that to happen is for Mack to see how serious you two really are."  He sat forward, the excitement about his plan a gleam in his watery eyes.  "See, the way I got it doped, Mack only did what he did 'cause he thought he could get away with it.  I mean, you gotta admit, you girls are forever flitting from one mug to the next.  How's he supposed to know you two got the real thing?  Well, I tell you how he's supposed to know."  Lombardi paused, milking the moment for dramatic effect, but only annoying the pair even further.  "You two are getting hitched.  Today.  Right now.  That way Mack'll see how nutso you two are for each other, he'll back off, and Spike can come back to work tonight.  Both problems solved."  He leaned back against the cushion, arm coming up to lie across the back of the couch, a huge grin spreading his normally dour face.

Buffy's jaw dropped.  He had not just suggested what she thought he did…did he?  "You're kidding," she said.  "You've got to be kidding."

"What's the problem?  You two are going to do it anyway.  Just move up the date a bit."

Her mind scrambled.  "But there's paperwork that has to be---."

"Done it.  I pulled a few strings to get it rushed through."

"But we can't just do it here---."

Lombardi waved over the other man, who finally stepped into the living area, his hands folded together in front of him.  "This here's Ira O'Malley.  He's an officially ordained minister so everything will be on the up and up.  And I'll witness it, so you got no bone there."  He paused, waiting for the next objection.

"A…a…a wedding," she finally managed.  "I wanted a big, white wedding.  This just won't do."  Buffy smiled, finally confident she'd found an argument he couldn't refute.

"And you'll get it," Lombardi said.  "I'll even foot the bill for the whole thing.  Consider this…a rehearsal.  Except it'll be the real thing for Mack."

There was a moment of silence.  She couldn't believe this was actually happening.  She couldn't marry Spike!  Yeah, she loved him, but she was just a freshman in college, and she had the whole Slaying thing, and her mom would kill her if she got married without telling her…

"You really think the wanker will back off?"

Buffy whirled to stare with wide eyes at Spike.  His question sounded suspiciously like he was seriously entertaining the idea, the casual tilt of his head only seeming to confirm her notion.  What the hell was he thinking?

"Positive," confirmed Lombardi.  "Mack's not stupid.  And there's lots of dames out there who'd be more than happy to distract him.  I'm sure he'll get over Buffy in no time flat."  He glanced at the young blonde.  "No offense."

The vampire strolled forward and grasped Buffy's upper arm.  "Give us a sec," he said to the other man as he pulled her along behind him to the kitchen.

"What exactly are you doing?" she demanded, once they were in the privacy of the next room.

"Trying to make life a little easier for us 'til we get outta here, luv," he said.  "Why are you throwing a wobbler?"

"We can't get married!"

"And why not?  We were goin' to do it back in Sunnydale.  Or have you forgotten all about the whole Wind Beneath My Wings---?"

"That was a spell.  Totally different."

"So consider this just another spell."  He sighed, leaning back against the counter, pulling her between his legs so that he could put his arms around her waist.  "Look, what's doin' it goin' to actually mean?  Nothin's goin' to change, and it's not like we're not already living together.  And it won't mean a thing once we get back to the Hellmouth.  We do this, we can get that prat off our backs and concentrate on finding the safety."  He brushed his lips across her forehead.  "'Sides, didn't think you'd hate the idea of a wedding night…"

In spite of her resolve, Buffy felt herself weakening against his arguments.  He had a point.  It wasn't _really a marriage.  It was just another unfortunate side effect of having to endure life in the painting.  And the prospect of a wedding night did sound appealing…_

She sighed, resting her cheek against his bare chest.  "Giles is _sooooo going to kill me," she murmured._

*************

"So, you're telling me, Spike and Buffy are in love."

"Yep."

"And it's not a spell this time."

"Nope."

"And Willow's dating this Gino guy."

"Yep."

"And he's not from our world."

"Nope."

Anya sighed, shaking her head.  "This is as bad as that stupid soap Spike watches," she commented.

"Just be thankful you didn't have to be here for the whole support-Spike-or-I'll-stake-you speech," Xander replied, stopping before the door, his hand automatically coming up to knock on it.  "Too bad Giles won the toss on who got to go to the hospital to check on Willow."

They could hear the murmur of voices inside the apartment, but only had to wait a moment before the door was pulled open.  The duo frowned as Lombardi put a finger to his lips, motioning for them to be quiet as he ushered them in.

"…I now pronounce you, man and wife.  You may kiss the bride."

Xander's jaw dropped as he watched a half-naked Spike and a robed Buffy turn into each other's arms and kiss, their bodies melting into the other's, their hands roaming over the other's back.  Holy.  Gee.  Willikers.  

"You know, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say Giles is going to be very upset he missed this," Anya murmured.

*************

In spite of her guilt, she had to admit that the shower felt good, washing away the blood and the grime of the past eighteen hours, scrubbing at her skin as if she were attempting to shed it.  This wasn't where she wanted to be, but after the assurances from the staff at the hospital, Willow had known she could afford to dash home and clean herself up before Gino woke up.

He had survived the operation, but when they'd wheeled him back to his room for recovery, she'd caught a glimpse of his ashen skin, the slight flutter in the sheet as his chest rose raggedly, and knew that it was far from over.  How she hated that she'd had to turn down Tony's offer; if she could just do the spell, Willow knew she could get Gino back, restore him to the robust man she'd fallen in love with, give him back the life he so badly deserved.  But now it was in the hands of the doctors…and fate.

As she stepped out of the tub, the redhead heard the far off ring of the telephone, followed quickly by Lola's hushed voice.  She shook her head.  She'd never met anyone who spent so much time on the phone.  Every time Willow came back to the apartment, the other girl was sitting on the couch, the receiver tucked in her shoulder, usually giggling away at something the person on the other end had said.  I miss it when it was me and Buffy, she thought sadly.

"Willow!  It's for you!"

The young witch frowned, wrapping the towel around her as she opened the door.  "Who is it?" she asked, stepping forward to take the phone from her roommate.

Lola shrugged.  "Some lady."

"Hello?" Willow asked tentatively into the receiver.

"Miss Rosenberg?"

At the sound of the woman's voice, the redhead froze, the chill overtaking her skin, blanketing her in frost.  She didn't have to ask who it was; she recognized the voice of Gino's nurse from the hospital, had spoken to her endlessly after Buffy and Spike had left.  The nurse was the one who'd said she would call if something happened while she ran home.  That could only mean…

"Yes?" Willow asked, her voice barely audible.

"I think you might want to come back down to the hospital," the nurse said, the professional soothe coating her words.  "He's awake, but he's incredibly weak, and the doctor has downgraded his prognosis of his recovery."

"He's not…" They choked in her throat, and the tears sprang into her eyes.  No.  Not Gino.

"No.  Not yet.  But he asked for you.  I think you should get down here as soon as possible."  

The nurse didn't need to say the rest of it; Willow knew what she meant.  Get down here and say good-bye while you can.  

As she mumbled her thanks, the ice of her flesh changed to wildfire, singeing away the numbness, leaving behind a flaming shell that threatened to collapse around her.  Denials echoed inside her brain…no…he can't die…I can't face that…I can't lose him…ricocheting against her skull, crashing into each other, as she struggled to catch her breath.  This wasn't happening, didn't have to happen, there had to be a way…

…and there was, but it would mean hurrying, getting there before it was too late…

…and it would mean risking the consequences if Tony had been lying to her about his spell…

…and it would mean facing an irate Buffy if she were to ever learn the truth…

…and it would be worth it…

…as long as Gino lived…

To be continued in Chapter 28: You'll Never Know…


	28. You'll Never Know

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Willow has decided to risk taking Tony up on his offer in order to save Gino, while Xander and Anya have walked in on Buffy and Spike getting married in order to get Mack off their backs…

*************

Irritable, Buffy glanced at the clock on the wall before letting her gaze slide back to the closed bedroom door, staring at it as if by doing so it would magically open and Spike would come strolling through, dressed and ready.  He'd been in there for over an hour---a record for the vamp and more than enough time for Lombardi and the minister to long ago leave---and she had no idea what he could be doing that was taking him so long.  Some pants, a shirt, a quick comb through his hair…five minutes tops.  It wasn't as if he could even be standing in front of the mirror to primp and get every peroxidized lock into place.  

"Let's just go already," Anya whined from her seat on the couch.  "The longer we wait, the closer I get to death."

"I'm not just leaving Xander alone out here, not when he's still…"  Buffy bit her lip as she looked down at her friend, sitting in the chair, one arm on each of the overstuffed sides, staring blankly straight ahead.  He hadn't said a word since he'd arrived, just gone into this fugue state, brown eyes fixed in front of him no matter what direction he was turned in.  She knew that for a fact; she'd watched Anya entertain herself for over ten minutes by moving his head and body around, and not once had his gaze faltered.

"Maybe you should try slapping him like they do in the movies," the ex-demon offered.  "That might make him snap out of it."

Buffy just glanced at the other woman, the disbelief etched in her face, before marching to the bedroom.  "Keep an eye on him," she ordered as she opened the door.  "In case he, you know, topples over.  I'm going to see what's keeping Spike."  

"Toppling would at least be something," Anya grumbled, as she glared at her boyfriend.  "You'd think he'd never seen you guys kiss before."

*************

He didn't hear her come in, and it wasn't until she pointedly cleared her throat did Spike finally look up, turning his head to see Buffy standing in the door of the wardrobe, arms folded across her chest, her annoyance obvious by the grim set of her jaw.  "You're still here," he commented.

"Yeah," she replied.  "And _you're still in here."_

"Didn't know you were waitin' on me," he said, swivelling back in the chair to face the open drawer in front of him.  

"I need you to babysit Xander.  He's still playing coma boy."  Buffy stepped forward to stand behind Spike, peering over his shoulder to see what could possibly be absorbing his interest so intently.  "What're you doing?"

She watched as he extended a lean hand into the drawer, extracting a small box from among the assorted cufflinks and setting it down onto the dressing tabletop.  "Found this when we first got here," he said.  "I've been sittin' here debatin' whether it would be a cock up if I dragged it out now."  Very slowly, he pushed it closer to the young woman.

She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but it wasn't the golden gleam of the jewelry that lay nestled in the black velvet.  It had never occurred to her to wonder about rings; the initial shock of merely finding out about their "relationship" within the painting was enough to drive all other thoughts from her head.  Yet, Spike had known, had probably found these that first morning when she'd been so hung over, and he'd never said.  Not once.

Gingerly, Buffy pulled out the smaller of the rings and slipped it over the first knuckle of her finger, hesitating to slide it all the way down.  It would fit, just like everything else in her wardrobe had fit, but putting it on seemed almost like she would be shutting a door on her old life, and throwing open another on this new one.  Was she ready for that?  

"Not like I'm really expectin' you to wear it," Spike said, the timbre of his voice uncharacteristically solemn.  "Just thought…in light of…just got reminded it was there, that's all."

Buffy twirled the ring around the tip of her finger, watching as the lighting of the dressing room caught glints of the gold metal.  "We're going to go to the hospital first and check on Will," she said slowly, knowing she was changing the subject but unsure as to what to exactly say about…this.  "Anya said Giles is there, so I'll be able to tell him about…"  Her words trailed away, her discomfort in considering how she was going to explain this latest development to her mentor curtailing her speech.

His mouth pursed.  "Right.  Make sure Rupes knows it wasn't my bleedin' idea in the first place, 'kay, luv?  Though I still think it's the best way to get the bastard out of our hair."  He watched as she slipped the ring into her pocket, watching it disappear behind the gabardine folds, and Spike ducked his head as he quickly rose to his feet.  "You off to bugle boy's after, then?"

Buffy nodded.  "Since the talking approach didn't work, I think it's time we tried the fist-connecting-with-face approach."

He grinned in spite of himself, the sudden image of his Slayer in battle dancing across his mind's eye.  He did love to watch her fight; too bad this had to happen during the day, or he would've been the first to get the best ringside seat.  "Don't worry 'bout Harris," he assured.  "I'll send him along as soon as he decides to rejoin the land of the living."

Reaching up, the Slayer brushed her lips against his, pulling away with a small smile.  "There's supposed to be a blood delivery today," she reminded him, a twinkle in her eyes.  "Try not to eat the delivery boy."

Spike's grin faded as he watched her walk away, disappearing into the bedroom as she headed back out to meet a waiting Anya.  His head turned, his gaze sliding to the box sitting on the dressing table, and slowly, the vampire reached out to pick it up.  At least she hadn't laughed…or thrown it back at him…not that he really expected that now, not after last night, but still…

Extracting the remaining ring from its velvet bed, he regarded the polished surface, rolling it between his index finger and thumb as his tongue tapped against the back of his front teeth.  Not something he would've normally picked out, but then, his own tastes had always been a bit more…extreme, and definitely not suitable for someplace like this.  Simple, elegant, it was really more Buffy's style than his, and he chuckled as he suddenly realized that every bloke who ever had to pick out a wedding ring probably thought the same thing.  With the smile still lingering on his face, Spike slipped the gold band onto his left ring finger and sauntered out of the wardrobe.

*************

He was beginning to wish he'd brought along a book; with Willow still not returned from her run home, waiting around in the hospital was proving impossibly boring, especially since Giles barely even knew this Gino in the first place.  Perhaps he should've let Xander and Anya come here after all; dealing with Spike, even in light of his current relationship with Buffy, had to be infinitely more interesting than this.

So inured to the hospital milieu, the Watcher didn't even see the doctor when he passed in front of him, or hear the hesitation in the other man's step as he paused in the hall, or observe his return to a place just beside his chair.  It was only when the physician politely said, "Excuse me," did Giles glance up and take notice.

"Yes?" he queried, a tiny line between his brows as he wondered just why he was being approached.

The doctor smiled, subtracting years from his grizzled face.  "I don't normally do this, but I just have to ask.  You're not Rupert Giles, are you?"

The Watcher's frown deepened.  "Yes, I am," he replied.  "Is there a problem?"

"Well, there's going to be," the other man laughed.  "As soon as my wife finds out I saw you today and she wasn't around to appreciate it."  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pad.  "This is going to sound horribly trite, but would you mind giving me your autograph?  My wife and I absolutely love your work.  We used to go see you every week when you were still singing at the Scarlet Sunrise."

Giles' eyes widened behind his spectacles.  "My…autograph…?" he asked, unconsciously straightening in his chair as he took the notepad and pen.  "Really?"  

"Sure," the doctor said.  "But you must get that all the time, a big name like you.  Just make it out to Stan and Alice. Where are you performing now?  I'd love to surprise the wife with a night out to see her favorite crooner."

"The…"  His mind scrambled to remember the name of the club.  "…Rising Sun," he finished.  "It's just temporary, though.  I don't know how much longer I'll be there."  Giles handed the pad back to the other man.  Fan?  He had…fans?

"Guess I'll just have to keep an eye out for when you go back to the Sunrise then."  The doctor smiled.  "Thanks."

Watching him walk away, the Watcher couldn't help the smile that curled the corner of his mouth.  It had been a long time since anyone had said anything about his singing, and he'd certainly been getting enough grief from Xander about it since they'd arrived.  I must remember to tell him about this, Giles thought.  Then we'll see who has the last laugh.

*************

He felt awful, and from watching the worried look on the nurse's face, Gino knew that he must look awful as well.  Breathing hurt, and the world seemed to weigh heavy around him as his black gaze flitted from one object to the next, unable to rest on any one thing but reluctant to close again.  He'd spent too much time out of it since getting shot; the brief respite he'd had with Willow before they'd taken him to the operating room hadn't nearly been enough.

Thinking of the slender redhead distracted him from dwelling on the pain, so Gino let his mind wander over the events of the past few days, enjoying the memory of her lips on his, the tender touch of her hand on his face, the smile that lit up her face when she laughed.  The nurse had explained that Willow had just run home to freshen up, and that she'd already been called about his wakening, but he found himself missing her just the same, hoping she'd return quickly…well, wishing that she'd never left at all.

When it started, he didn't know what it was, dismissing it as just another unfortunate side effect of the operation.  The tingling began at his outermost extremities---toes, fingers---and slithered itself inward, livening his flesh with electric pulses that rose out of nowhere before wrapping him in heat.  All of a sudden, Gino found his throat parched, and swallowed more than once in an attempt to rectify it.  "Please," he croaked, trying to get the nurse's attention.  "Could I have…water?"

He saw her nod, not even looking in his direction as she poured the liquid from the carafe, but as she held the glass up to his lips, her eyes narrowed, quickly scanning his flushed face as he gulped down the refreshment, her free hand reaching up to rest on his forehead.  He almost jumped at the iciness of her touch.  Why was she so cold?  Or was it him who was so hot?

When the lights began to dance before his face, Gino knew that something was wrong, something was…different.  This wasn't normal; this wasn't natural.  He squeezed his eyes shut, eager to block them out, but the flashes of red and orange and white refused to leave, piercing the thin lids in pinpricks of flurry, causing his head to spin at dizzying speeds.  His chest began to heave as his breathing quickened, lungs failing to expand properly as he fought to gain control of his air supply, and the nurse ran to the door in alarm, ready to call out for the doctor to come and help.

It ended almost as quickly as it began, and by the time the nurse had settled her hand on the doorknob, she heard the rasping cease, an audible silence now filling the room, and glanced back to look at her patient.  

His eyes were closed, lashes dark against his skin, but the rise and fall of his chest confirmed that he hadn't lost this last battle.  In fact…she took a step toward him, already forgetting what she'd been doing at the door.  His breathing seemed more even than it had since he'd been brought back to his room, deeper, more controlled, almost as if he were merely…asleep.

Quickly, the nurse strode forward, checking Gino's vitals, head shaking as she looked at her watch and counted.  Strong.  Steady.  Not the pulse of a man who'd been shot less than twenty-four hours before.  The flush was gone from his face as well, and when she laid her thin hand back over his forehead, she noted with lessening surprise that it was now cool to the touch.

The young man was unexpectedly winning, that much was obvious, but she had learned long ago not to question the how or why of these things when they happened seemingly without the aid of medical science.  Probably thinking of his girl, she thought with a smile.  That's what most likely did the trick.  She'd been on duty when he'd brought her in earlier that week, and she'd been the one to call Miss Rosenberg when it looked like things were taking a turn for the worse for him.  They were so gentle with each other, so attentive, that she'd almost been as upset as the redhead when she'd thought the young man was going to die.  Whatever magic lies between them, she mused, it certainly did the trick…

*************

From his window, Tony watched as Willow emerged from the phone booth across the street, the smile on her face clear indication that she'd gotten good news.  Gino must be doing better, he thought.  Good.

The spell had gone smoothly, both of them concentrating on not having it fail, albeit for different reasons.  The redhead had been very adamant when she showed up on his doorstep that if hers didn't work, there was no way she was going to help him with his, and Tony had accepted that.  Certainly seemed fair enough, even if he did desperately need her skills to complete his own spell.  Those skills had far surpassed what he'd been expecting, her focus and attention to detail alarmingly refreshing.  Melinda never cared this much, he'd thought irritably.  Bitch.

When he heard her footsteps in the hall, he darted away from the window, back to the table where his own ingredients were laid out, affecting an air of nonchalance that he hoped she would believe.  He glanced up when she came in the door.  "Well?" he asked, already knowing the answer, but needing to keep up the pretense.

"The nurse said he just suddenly started doing better," Willow said with a relieved smile and added shyly, "She thought it was because he was thinking of me."

"I'm glad," Tony replied, and in that moment, meant it.  He was growing to really like the redhead; he hoped she would be able to escape some of the dangers of the painting long enough for him to enjoy having her around. 

Willow crossed to the table and quickly scanned the items that lay across it.  He'd said it was a protection spell he wanted to do, and based on what he'd prepared, it looked like he was telling the truth.  There were some things she didn't recognize---the jar of white powder could've been just about anything---but none of it looked lethal, so maybe she'd been worrying for nothing after all.  Maybe this really could be a win-win situation.  After all, she got Gino back.  Why shouldn't Tony be able to feel just a little bit safer while Buffy tried to figure out how to get everyone home?

The young musician kept his eyes averted from his companion as they laid out the candles on the floor, knowing that if she saw the gleam of excitement there, she'd know immediately that something was up.  It was going to happen; he could finally stop worrying about what they would do if they found the safety.  No more dreading going back to Sunnydale and facing Melinda's wrath…no more fear that he'd get yanked out against his will.  And all because of a gullible witch with a soft spot for a dark-haired bouncer.  He had to refrain from actually shaking his head.  Women…

*************

The room was darkened, curtains drawn against the sunlight while the hospital staff let him sleep in the violence-induced coma that had brought him here in the first place.  He'd never stirred, never moved, and the bruises that peppered his skin seemed to actually worsen with time.  No one had ever seen a person beaten so thoroughly before; it was surprising to them that the man still lived at all, escaping with only the cracked ribs and massive damage to his face.  His prognosis was unsure, but the longer he slept…the worse it got.  

Outside of his immediate staff, he'd had no visitors, no one to stop by and check on how he was doing, no one to call and find out if he was OK.  That surprised the young nurse who'd been assigned to him.  Even the dark-haired man who'd brought him in had seemed uncaring as to his boss' condition, and frankly, she'd found it slightly callous.  He was lucky to be alive, and there should be someone out there who should care, even if it was just his employees.  Briefly, she wondered what was so bad about him that they didn't bother.

Humming under her breath, she held his wrist lightly, checking his pulse for the chart.  His vitals seemed stronger today, which was always a good sign, but when she turned to check on his breathing, she was startled to see his grey eyes staring steadily back at her.  "G-g-good morning," she stammered, letting her mouth spread automatically into a welcome.  "How are you feeling?"

There was a moment of silence as she saw him actually consider her question, mulling over the sensations that coursed through his body.  "Alive," Mack finally said, his own lips curling up to match her smile…

To be continued in Chapter 29: Pennies from Heaven…


	29. Pennies from Heaven

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Mack has woken up after Spike's beating, Willow has made a deal with Tony in order to save Gino, and Xander hasn't reacted well to learning of Buffy and Spike's marriage…

*************

It had probably been one of his shortest conversations on record with the blond vamp.

"You all right?"

"Yep.  Where's Buffy?"

"Hospital."

And that had been it.  He had been out the door like a shot, tearing down the stairs to get as much distance between him and the den of iniquity as possible.  Mack's car was still waiting for him, so with a peremptory order to the chauffeur, Xander found himself winding through the streets, on his way to the hospital.

It was easier not to think about it once he wasn't actually sitting in the same room it had happened.  Living now in the world of weirdness, there was plenty of other oogedy-boogedy stuff to torment himself with, including Willow's near-assault, how in hell he was going to keep Anya off the roster every night, and this whole get-what-you-want-then-die scenario they were all so desperately trying to avoid.  After his encounter with Tony yesterday, Xander was convinced he was hiding something, that the little weasel knew what it was they needed in order to get out of here.  Buffy will get the answers, he thought.  Buffy always gets the answers.

The same Buffy who just married Spike? the little voice inside his head prompted.  Didn't count, Xander argued.  Just like nothing else that happens in this dimension counts.  It's not real, and I'm just going to go on thinking that until we get back to Sunnydale.  Life is much more pleasant that way.

As the car pulled up in front of the hospital, Xander caught a flash of red hair disappearing inside the front door, and hopped out of the back seat to rush after her.  "Willow!" he called, legs pumping as he raced to catch the door before it closed.

She turned at the sound of his voice, and he was immediately struck by how relaxed she seemed, a faint smile on her face, the shadows disappearing from around her eyes.  "What're you doing here?" she asked as he followed her inside.

"Checking up on you, although you seem to be checked up OK."

"Gino's going to make it," she said.  "I called before I came over.  They said he's doing much better."

"And you?" Xander prompted, his worry etched in a frown on his face.  "How're _you doing?"_

Her smile faded.  "Buffy told me what you did to that Marty.  You and Spike."  She paused, green eyes suddenly serious.  "Thank you."

He watched as she pushed open the door to the stairwell.  He knew she wasn't just thanking him for herself; somewhere in those two words, Willow was thanking him for Gino as well, and he realized that she was in deeper than he'd originally thought.  Greatest desire…? Xander wondered.  Does that mean Willow will be the first target?

When they stopped at the second floor, he hung back, watching as his friend pulled open the door and turned expectantly back to look at him.  "Aren't you coming?" she asked.

"I'll be down in a sec," he replied.  "As long as I'm here, I should probably go up and check on Mack.  See how he's doing."

Willow nodded.  "This place would be lot easier to deal with if we all didn't have jobs to worry about," she commented as she gave him a little smile, heading out onto the hospital floor.

And what frightened him the most was…in spite of knowing the artificiality of being in the painting world, her observation didn't seem all that wrong…

*************

Giles sighed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.  "And Mr. Lombardi is absolutely positive this will successfully remove Mack as a threat while we're trying to discover the identity of the safety?"

"Well, obviously he doesn't know that's why we don't want to worry about Mack, but yeah, that's pretty much his take on things."  In filling her Watcher in on the details of the morning, Buffy had decided to focus on the reasons and her boss' determination for the impromptu wedding, not on the actual event itself.  Play it down so as not to freak out the older generation, that was the plan.  So far it seemed to be working.

"I suppose in light of our current situation, having Spike at the club as well will only increase our odds," he mused.

"Exactly!" she said, pouncing on the idea.  "More bodies means more eyes means more chances of seeing this mark."

"Unless it's covered up," Anya commented.  "People still wear clothes at the club.  Well, until the dancing's over."

"I'm going to be so glad when we get back to Sunnydale," Giles murmured.  "Demons seem so much simpler all of a sudden."  The relief he felt when he saw the familiar red hair bobbing down the hallway was enough to pull him to his feet, followed almost immediately by Buffy.  "Where have you been?" he demanded of the young witch as she approached.

Willow hesitated, uncertainty at the unforeseen harshness in his voice temporarily shadowing her good mood.  "I…took a shower," she said.  "I called the hospital before I left.  They said Gino was doing better."

The Slayer pushed her way past the older man, crossing to stand before her best friend, as if to act as a shield from his verbal barrage.  "How are you doing?" she asked gently.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Willow said, relaxing slightly.  "I'm fine.  I'll be---."  She cut herself off when she spotted the nurse coming down the hall, brushing past Buffy to rush up to her.  "Is he awake yet?" she demanded.  "Can I see him?"

"He's still sleeping," the nurse replied.  "But, yes, you can see him.  I'm sure he'll be very happy to wake up and find you there."  

Buffy watched as Willow followed the nurse down the hall, away from them and toward his room.  "OK, that was a little shorter than I thought it was going to be," she said.  "But at least she's not crying anymore.  Bonus points for that."

"I don't understand why she's so worked up over this Gino anyway," Giles said, settling himself back down into his chair.  "It's not as if he's real."

"What're you talking about?" Anya asked.  "Of course, he's real.  As real as you or me or Buffy or Xander."

"But he's a fixture of the painting---."

She rolled her eyes.  "You're still not getting it, are you?  The painting is just a door.  This dimension is just as real as the one we live in, and the people who live here breathe, and go to work, and have sex just like we do.  It's just that, by making the portal, H'roven has started messing with their heads with these false histories and stuff.  But that doesn't make them any less real."  She looked at Buffy.  "Do _you get it?  Or am I just being totally unclear here?"_

"No, I get it."  And she did, although it didn't make it any easier to accept.  In fact, knowing that Willow had fallen in love with someone who was still going to be around after she left, that wasn't going to go poof in some bit of magical smoke once they returned to Sunnydale, made the prospect of leaving him behind all that much harder.  She's just starting to get over Oz, Buffy thought.  What will leaving Gino behind do to her?

*************

At least it wasn't raining this time.  Knowing Willow was all right and probably spending more than a little time with Gino, Buffy had fled outside into the sunshine in order to collect her thoughts, waiting it out for her friends to come down and join her.  It had been decided that they would go to Tony's en masse---the more the merrier, she thought---although it would most likely come down to a one-Slayer show.  She liked that idea.  She was missing what being the Slayer back home had meant for her.

But that wasn't where her head was now.  Willow's involvement with Gino had led to her thinking of her involvement with Spike, and she sat there now, the gold band in her hand, contemplating why the vampire had dragged the rings out now, what they might mean for him.  She loved him, she wasn't denying it anymore, but this seemed so absolute, and though the wedding was admittedly just a sham to maintain the peace within the painting, it still felt real…just like everything else here felt so real.

She didn't want him to go; he had promised her as much.  But how was he going to fit into her life once when they returned to Sunnydale?  She had school, and slaying, and those commando guys to figure out.  Where was Spike going to fit into all that?  Wherever you let him, the little voice inside her head replied.  Though it won't be easy.

That almost made her laugh.  Like her lovelife had ever been easy.  At least she didn't have to worry about this boyfriend losing his soul over her; that had to count for something…

A shadow fell across her hand and instinctively, Buffy's fingers curled around the ring, hiding it, protecting it, shielding it, although from what she wasn't sure.  Glancing up, she fully expected to see Giles standing over her, that disapproving frown on his face, wanting the explanation that she had avoided providing inside.  Instead, her hazel eyes widened at the slight form of a very beat-up Mack, his shirt hanging loose from his trousers, his face a mass of fading bruises.  

"I suppose hoping you're here to see me would be foolish," he said, his voice surprisingly light, a small smile lighting his grey eyes.

"I came to see Gino," Buffy said.  At the slight furrow in his brow, she clarified, "He got shot last night."

His confusion eased.  "The perils of his profession, I suppose."  Mack glanced down at the empty space next to her on the bench.  "May I?"

The last thing she wanted right now was to have to be dealing with her boss---ex-lover?---but there was no point in escaping the inevitable, so with a slight shrug, Buffy inched herself over to give him more room…not that he really needed it.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," he said as he leaned back in the seat.  "Although why you didn't tell me yourself, I have no idea."  He regarded her silence with a level gaze.  "Decide you couldn't wait?"

"That's got nothing to do with me and Spike."  His casual manner regarding her relationship with the blond vamp was really starting to piss her off, even if it was just part of this whole painting nightmare.  "And he told me what you did.  You ask me, you got off light.  If it'd been me, you wouldn't be walking right now."

Mack laughed, not really the reaction she was looking for.  "Ever the little spitfire, aren't you?"  As he twisted his body to reach into his back pocket, he winced, a grimace coloring his fine features just long enough for Buffy to catch it.

"What're you doing out here anyway?" she asked.  "Shouldn't you be upstairs in a bed, you know…healing?"

"I'm fine," he asserted, pulling out the pack of cigarettes.  "I've checked myself out.  Xander's up there settling things so that I can go home and get some real food."

She snorted.  "It's not a hotel, Mack.  You can't just pick up and leave whenever you want."

His grey eyes flickered to meet hers.  "You can if you're me."  There was silence as he slowly lit up, his thin fingers almost caressing the cigarette as he placed it between his lips.  "I'm probably going to regret asking this," he said as he turned his head to exhale away from her, "but…why Spike?"

It was a question she would've expected from Giles, and though she certainly didn't think she owed this man any type of explanation, maybe if he understood, it might make it easier for the pair of them when they returned to work that night.  If only she didn't suck at trying to put it into words… "Because…we just fit," she finally said.  "He knows me, like nobody else does, like I don't, and he's not afraid to tell me what he sees.  It pisses me off sometimes, but that's only because he's usually right."  Buffy smiled.  "Being with Spike…makes me…better.  Because I know I don't have to worry about being judged.  Because he gives me what I need, even if I don't want it, or even if I don't know it."  Her smile faded, her eyes wistful.  "I'm not good at…the word thing.  I just know…I love him.  And he's never to going to stop trying for me.  And there aren't many people in my life I can say that about."

A long line of ash fell off the end of Mack's cigarette, scattering on the ground before being picked up by the slight breeze and dusted away.  "You never cease to amaze me, Buffy," he murmured.  "Spike is a very lucky man."  Standing, he dropped his cigarette to the ground, lightly tamping it out with the toe of his leather shoe.  "I only regret I wasn't the one who could give you that."

The hospital door swung open behind them, and Buffy was relieved not to have to respond, almost smiling herself as Xander came walking up.  "All sorted," he said to Mack.  "Doc's not too happy about it, but I explained how he didn't have any choice in the matter."  When his boss turned away, Xander glanced over at Buffy and rolled his eyes, both of them recognizing how silly that sounded.  

"Well, we should probably get going if I want to make a clean sneak," Mack commented, starting to walk toward the car waiting for them at the curb.  "Good-bye, Buffy," he said, his voice floating back to her.

Xander hesitated, looking between his friend and his painting boss, before she shrugged and nodded out to Mack.  She knew he had obligations while they were here, just like she had to go into the Sun every night, and besides, he'd already had a shot at Tony and failed.  This way, maybe he could keep an eye on at least one player in this fiasco.  With a lopsided smile, he shoved his hands in his pockets and ambled after the other man.

*************

She was tired of staring at it, tired of waiting for something in it to change, just fucking tired of the whole Tony mess.  The painting had been back in her possession for almost a day now, the Injopa demons doing their job perfectly and finding it exactly where H'roven had said it was going to be, but Melinda had yet to enter it.  She knew that by doing so, she would ultimately end up destroying it, and the stupid thing had cost her a fortune.  That bastard Tony knew that, which is probably why he'd used it in the first place to get away from her.  He knew she'd be hard-pressed to give it up that quickly.

Just wait until I get my hands on him, she thought.  Putting me through all this misery, just because he thinks it's actually over between us.  Let me tell you, Tony darling, it will never be over, and once you're back here in Sunnydale, I'm going to show you just how not over it really is.  Except…

Except…the Slayer was still in the painting, and if Melinda went in now, she'd probably have to contend with her as well as killing the safety.  Not that she was a chicken, but the female vamp certainly knew her limitations, and meeting up with the Slayer was not something she'd probably come out of alive.  And none of this would be worth anything if she got staked before she could get out.

She knew that the Watcher had gone through the portal knowing how to destroy it, which meant that the Slayer probably knew by this point and was doing everything she could do to do it.  It was still entirely possible that this could get resolved without any intervention on Melinda's part.  She would just wait one more day.  If nothing changed in the painting before then, she would go in and take care of it herself.  One more day…

*************

Figures he'd live in the penthouse, Xander thought.  Beats the hell out of your parents' basement.  Not that his apartment, just two floors down, was anything to sneeze at, but some guys' fortune just really bit his butt.  Betcha he never had to sell ice cream bars to snotty-nosed rugrats to pay for it either, he groused.

He hung back, watching as Mack turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open.  "There's some issues I'd like to discuss," the smaller man said, not even bothering to look over his shoulder as he disappeared inside the apartment.  "Why don't you pour us some drinks?"

The interior looked like something out of the movies, and, as nice as Xander had thought Buffy's apartment was, this one was miles ahead, displays of his boss' wealth practically dripping off the walls.  It was one of those rooms where he always felt like he should take off his shoes in fear of leaving prints on the carpet, but when he saw Mack just stride confidently into the living room before vanishing down a far hall, he decided to throw caution to the wind and walked in after.  

Everything was cream…the walls, the carpet, the furniture…with the only displays of color coming from the multitude of artwork that hung on the walls.  The center of one of the long walls was dominated by a large granite fireplace, with a bright landscape adorning the mantle above it, and for some reason, Xander found himself drawn to it, admiring the brilliance of the blue sky, the sharp lines of the buildings that lined the wide street. 

Standing before it, a tiny line appeared between his brown eyes, and the young man tilted his head as he stared at the picture.  Something about it seemed so…familiar, like he should know what it was or like he'd seen it someplace before.  A book maybe? and almost laughed out loud.  Yeah, right.  But if not there, then where?

And then it dawned on him, and if he'd been physically able of kicking himself in the ass, he would've, that was just how stupid he felt.  Of course, it looked familiar; he'd only seen that street every day of his life for the past eighteen years, had walked down those sidewalks with Willow, had felt that sun on his face.

It was Sunnydale…

To be continued in Chapter 30: How Do I Know It's Real…


	30. How Do I Know It's Real

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Willow has made a deal with Tony in order to save Gino, while Xander has found a painting of Sunnydale in Mack's apartment…

*************

The colors were just as vibrant as the one back in Giles' apartment…scarlets that seemed to bleed off the canvas…blues that promised the heat of sunshine even in the dark of night…and there, in the corner, the signature of the artist who made it.  H'roven.  It was the way home, Xander was sure of it, which could only mean one thing.

Mack had to be the safety.

Taking a step closer to the painting, the young man bit his lip, the question on whether it worked on the same principle as the picture back in Sunnydale hanging foremost in his mind.  If it did and he touched it, he should go back home, right?  But then what about what H'roven had said about killing the safety?  Was that all just smoke and mirrors to throw them off the scent?

There was really only one way to find out, except that meant more touchy-feely and after the events of the past few days, there was absolutely no way he was going to do that.  Not without some sort of assurance he wouldn't end up in yet another demon dimension.

First things first.  Buffy needed to know.

With one last glance up the hall to confirm he wouldn't be unfortunately interrupted, Xander marched over to the phone and picked it up.

*************

She probably should've told him she was sitting there---called out or something---but watching him make the mad dash from the car to the front door, hunched over, blanket already steaming from the brilliant sunshine, had to have been the funniest thing Buffy had seen in ages.  As Spike went flying past, she rose and followed him inside, the giggles escaping like butterflies into the breeze.

Watching him drop the blanket and begin stamping out the flames that licked at its hems, she smiled as she said, "If I had known you looked that ridiculous running through the streets of Sunnydale, I'd've made sure it was a spectator sport."

Spike glared at her out of the corner of his eye.  "As soon as you get a sunlight issue, Slayer, you can bet I'll be the first one laughin'."  He straightened, kicking the wool cover out of sight behind a potted bush before sauntering toward her, wary of the light at her back.

"What're you doing here?" Buffy murmured into his mouth, as his head lowered to hers.

"Do you have any idea how bleedin' boring it is in the apartment?" he replied, his lips hovering millimetres from hers.  "No telly, no one to talk to once Harris bolted, and the only thing on the radio was some daft quiz show."  His tongue darted out, pointedly licking the delicate curve of her bottom lip.  "So, as soon as the blood showed up---and no, I didn't eat the delivery boy, thank you very much---I called for the car and came over.  Thought I might enjoy me a show while you beat up a certain bugle boy."  The vamp kissed her lazily, sucking at her mouth with a lazy delight that reminded her of hot summer days.

When it broke apart, she lingered in the circle of his arms, resting her cheek on his chest.  "I've got some bad news," she said.  "Mack's awake and checked himself out of the hospital."

"Bugger."

She leaned back so that she could grin up into his face.  "There is good news, though.  He looks like absolute hell."

Spike couldn't help the answering smile, his blue eyes dancing.  "You just made my day, luv."  He pulled away, being careful to remain out of the sunlight that shone through the glass door.  "So, ready to go get some answers?"

"Actually, no.  Giles and I decided it would be better if we all went as a team, kind of show him the force he's got to reckon with."

His head tilted.  "Luv, you're the only force he needs to be worryin' about."

For some reason, that made her blush.  "Still, it's already been decided.  We're just waiting for Willow to finish up with Gino."

"How's he doin'?"

"Better.  At least, as far as we know.  None of us have seen him except for Will."

"Then I think we better go check on him, see how the big guy's doin'."

When Spike extended his left hand in invitation, Buffy's immediate response was to slide her own into it, but as she did so, she felt her throat constrict as her gaze lit on the gold band adorning his finger.  He was wearing the ring.  She froze, staring up into his face.

The blond vamp's own eyes flickered down at his hand.  "If you haven't had a chance to tell Rupes yet," he said, "I'll take it off."

"No, he knows," she replied faintly.

"Oh.  Well, then."  He seemed to brighten and took a step, only to be jerked to a halt when she didn't move.  Spike looked back at her.  "What?"

"I'm not wearing mine."  

It wasn't a disavowal, more of a statement of fact, and the vampire shrugged.  "S'ok," he said.  "Never expected you to."

"Then…"  She frowned.  "I don't understand…why…I mean, we're not at the club…and Mack's not here…what does wearing it prove?"

Using her grip as leverage, Spike pulled her into him, bending to brush his lips over hers.  "Just that I'm not goin' anywhere, pet," he murmured before pulling her gently toward the stairwell.  "Now, c'mon.  Stop thinkin' so much and let's get to work."

*************

Buffy frowned as they approached Anya in the hallway.  "Where's Giles?" she asked.

The other girl nodded back in the direction of the nurse's desk.  "On the phone with Xander," she explained.  "Willow's still in with that bouncer guy."

"Let him know we're going in to see Gino, 'kay?" she asked as she began pulling Spike toward the right room.  "We'll just be a sec."

"Sure," Anya muttered.  "Because visiting hours are so much more important than actually doing something to get out of this place."

*************

When the knock came at the door, Willow paused mid-pace, her heart skipping a beat.  She'd known it was inevitable that one of the hospital staff would eventually poke his or her head in; she'd just been hoping to actually have some answers before that happened.

How am I going to explain this? she thought wildly.  Gino doesn't even understand, and if they start pumping him with questions, he's just going to get even more confused.  Oh, sweet goddess, how am I going to get out of this?  She'd briefly considered running, but knew that wasn't the answer.  It never was.  Well, maybe once or twice, but definitely not this time.  She just couldn't leave him like that, defenseless and bewildered.  Nope, better to just face the music, even if she was going to hate the song.

Taking a deep breath, Willow walked over to the door, her hand shaking as it reached out to pull it open.  Just a crack, she thought.  Don't let them see Gino isn't in his bed.  

"Hey, Will," Buffy smiled.  "Can we---?"

"Buffy!"  The redhead threw open the door and grabbed her best friend's arm, yanking her through the doorway.  "Ohmigod, I'm so glad it's you!"  Her green eyes flickered to the other new arrival.  "Spike?" she questioned, and then brightened.  "Oh, Spike!  Spike is good!  Definitely can use Spike."  Reaching out with her free hand, she dragged him in, kicking the door shut behind them as she shoved them into the middle of the room.

"What's wrong?" Buffy asked, and then noticed the empty bed.  "Where's Gino?"

"OK, before you get mad or anything, I just want to say, I didn't mean it.  Well, I meant it, but not in the way it happened.  Just smaller, not quite so huge-ish."  She pushed her hair out of her eyes.  "But I can't figure out how to fix this one, and the nurse will be by any minute, and she's _really not going to understand, in fact, she'll probably run screaming from the room with the way this place works, and did I say I'm sorry yet?  Except I'm not, well, except for how this is going to mess us up, and…"  She gulped, swallowing air as she fought to catch her breath._

Buffy stepped forward and placed both hands on either of her friend's shoulders.  "Willow…breathe…"  She waited a moment, watching the color return to the other girl's face, before adding, "I'm going to ask again.  Where's Gino?"

Willow pointed.  "In the bathroom."

The blond vamp caught the Slayer's nod, and ambled to the closed door, giving it a sharp rap with a single knuckle.  "Gino?" he called out.  "It's Spike."  There was the sound of movement inside the adjoining room, followed almost immediately by the door opening and the burly bouncer filling the entrance.  He was dressed in his tuxedo shirt and trousers, the bullethole and blood stains still decorating the shirtfront, but in spite of his rather daunting appearance, he stood erect, with a healthy glow to his face, and seemed remarkably free from pain.

Buffy's eyes widened.  "Wow," she said.  "You're recovering really well."

Spike's head turned to look at Willow, head low, gazing at her through hooded eyes.  "Red…?" he queried, his voice almost a growl.  "What did you do?"

"He was going to die!" she protested.  "You saw him!  I didn't have a choice."

"What did you do?" Buffy repeated.

The young witch ducked her face, fixing her eyes on the floor.  "A healing spell," she whispered.

"That's not so…" the Slayer started, then stopped, realizing if that was all, her friend wouldn't be so flummoxed.  "Lemme guess.  Side effects?"

"Ummmmm, no, not really."  Willow looked over at Gino, sighing.  "You might as well show them.  They're going to find out sooner or later."

Slowly, the bouncer's fingers fell to the buttons, undoing them from the bottom one by one, allowing his shirt to fall open and reveal the expanse of his torso.  He was broadly built, a light covering of dark, curly hair matting his muscled chest, while a thin line of the same ran down the center of his abdomen, disappearing under the waistband of his pants.  

For a brief moment, Buffy found herself appreciating Gino's physique, in a gazing-at-a-poster, that's-kind-of-hot kind of way, when it slowly dawned on her, and her jaw dropped.  "Willow…where's his wound?"

"Exactly!"  The redhead raced forward and ran her hand over Gino's stomach, totally unaware of the boldness of her actions.  "No side effects.  _Super effects.  My spell worked way better than I thought it would.  And I think the first time they come in to check on him, they're going to notice the lack of a gaping hole, don't you?  I mean, this is definite lackage here.  There is no way we can hide this, well, short of shooting him again, and I'm not even entertaining that notion."_

Buffy sighed.  "We're just going to have to get him out of here then."  She looked back at Gino.  "How do you feel?"

For the first time, he smiled.  "Like I could even put the screws on Spike here," he replied.  

The vampire laughed.  "Yeah, he's fine."

"How much does he know?" the Slayer asked.

"Not very much."

"But you're going to tell me, right?" Gino interrupted, looking down at Willow.  "You promised you'd be square with me."

"And I will," she assured.  "But we gotta get you out of here first."

There was silence as the group watched Buffy, her brow furrowed, her lip caught between her teeth.  "We're going to need a wheelchair," she finally said.  "Spike?"

"Got it."

"And I'll go talk with Giles and Anya."  She looked at Willow and Gino.  "You two just wait here.  Don't let anyone in.  We'll be right back."

************

The Watcher was waiting for her as they emerged from the room, and frowned as Spike went loping down the hallway.  "There's been a development," he said as Buffy pulled the door shut.  "A very good development, in fact."

"Unless you know who the safety is, I don't have time for this right now, Giles---."

"We do.  We think.  It's Mack."

That stopped her from brushing past, and she gazed up at him, her hazel eyes wide.  "Mack?  How do you know that?"

"Xander's at his apartment right now.  Apparently, Mack has a painting of Sunnydale, signed by the very same demon we summoned.  It must be the portal to return home."

 "Guess this means I don't get to beat up Tony, huh?"

Giles shook his head.  "I really see no point in furthering our attempts to interrogate him.  We'll confirm Mack's the safety and take it from there."

"Spike is soooooo not going to let me hear the end of this."  At her Watcher's slight frown, she added, "He's the one who wanted to kill Mack in the first place, remember?"

"Yes, well…"  He glanced over her shoulder at the closed door.  "Is something wrong in there?" he asked.

"Yes and no, but I don't have time to explain it right now.  I need you to distract the hospital staff while we sneak Gino out of here."

"Sneak him…?  Buffy, you really shouldn't be moving someone who's been so recently injured.  It could only make things worse."

"Trust me.  That's _not going to be a problem.  Can you do it?"_

"I suppose so---."

"Good.  As soon as Spike gets back with the wheelchair, you go do your thing.  When the coast is clear, have Anya knock twice on the door.  That'll be our signal.  We'll get him out, and then you can meet us back at our apartment, 'kay?"  She didn't even wait for a response, just slipped back inside the room and closed the door silently behind her.

"I've got to learn to stop asking so many questions," Giles murmured.

************

Anya pressed herself into the wall, eyes darting back and forth between the nurse's station and the other end of the hall.  Finally, something to do.  So, OK, it didn't really have anything to do with getting back to Sunnydale, except it kept the locals from suspecting funny business, but at least it was something.  And Xander had found out who the safety was, or at least had a really good idea who it was, so that was progress on that front as well.  Maybe she just might survive this hellhole after all.

She watched as Giles leaned against the counter, and was glad he had his back to her, because listening to him was certainly bad enough.  His voice filtered back to her, and she could hear his flirtatious teasing as he spoke with the two nurses who were there, laughing as he reached for the pen and paper one of them was handing him.  This was the best he could do? she thought.  Turning those women into fawning sycophants, playing the act of rockstar, only without the rock.  Except, as much as it turned her stomach, she had to admit it was working.  They were totally concentrated on Giles, which meant…

A quick glance to confirm the remaining hallway was clear, and Anya's hand reached behind her and rapped twice at the door, stepping aside to allow them to come through as it opened.  

Gino sat in the chair, two blankets covering his form so that his clothes were barely visible, his head slumped down as if he was asleep.  Behind him, Spike pushed him along, while the two women flanked either side.  Anya stifled the giggle that rose to her throat as she watched them head quickly for the stairwell.  The whole thing looked too much like one of those Laverne and Shirley reruns Xander was always making her watch.  Wonder which one gets to be Squiggy? she mused.

*************

Hunched over, his hands pulled distractedly at his dark hair, his lids closed as he listened to her speak.  "I know it seems kinda weird, but that's the truth, Gino.  And I don't know how else to explain it."  Willow bit her lip, the anxiety about how he was going to react a crystal shimmer in her eyes.

He looked up, his black gaze locking with hers.  "How come I have all these memories then?" he asked softly.  "I remember when you first started working.  And I remember Spike training me on how the set-up at the club was.  And I remember how Buffy was before she and Spike got engaged.  If what you're telling me is truth, how come I've got these?"

"It's the portal," she said.  "That's part of the magic of the demon who made it.  He's turned your head into scrambled eggs 'cause we came through."

"And your…magic…is why I'm jake now?"

Willow blushed.  "Yes.  But sometimes my spells go a little…wonky.  Which is why your injury is completely gone instead of just healing quickly."

Gino's gaze flickered over the other occupants in the room…Buffy, curled up on Spike's lap…the crooner, the one they said was their Watcher…the new dancer, except she wasn't, she was another friend.  "And none of what I know is true," he said.  "Harris didn't…and Buffy's not…and you and me aren't…"  It was all so much; processing it was hurting his head, but he'd demanded to know the truth.  And here it was.

"No."  Her voice was firm.  "You and I _are."  She reached forward and slipped her hand into his.  "That's why we're trusting you with this."_

"I know it's a lot to deal with right now," Buffy said.  "But we're your friends, Gino.  We wouldn't lie to you.  Well, not anymore anyway."

The dark-haired bouncer returned his gaze to Willow.  "I can't go back to work tonight," he said.  "How's it going to look?  And won't the docs be looking for me?"

"You can stay here," the Slayer offered.  "We've got the extra room."

"Sure," agreed Spike.  "Be nice to have the balance of power tipped in favor of the testosterone for a change."

Willow leaned forward.  "So, you believe me?  You're OK with this?"

Gino's lips twisted into a wry smile.  "I got a choice in the matter?  Besides, my gut is telling me to trust you, so who am I to question the only smart part of my anatomy?"

Giles straightened from where he was leaning against the sideboard.  "Not to sound callous or anything, but now that this is sorted, we really should start investigating this Mack business," he said.  

Buffy and Spike exchanged looks before she turned to face her Watcher.  "No offense, Giles, but it's kind of been a busy day.  Couldn't we do this tonight?  You know, at the club or something?  I'm sure Willow could use the sleep…"  She raised her eyebrows suggestively to the redhead, nodding her head almost imperceptibly.

"Oh, yeah," the young witch exclaimed, feigning a very large yawn.  "I'm exhausted.  I wouldn't be any good to anybody right now."

Until this point, Anya had remained silent, allowing the others to relay the truth to the bouncer, but now, she jumped to her feet.  "Are you all crazy?" she demanded.  "What is it about this place and giving you all deathwishes?  We've got to get out of here.  Or have you forgotten about the imminent death clause?"

"Actually," Buffy said, clambering off Spike's lap to stand before her, "I've got a plan for that.  If you're interested."

"Finally!" Anya shouted.  "Someone's taking action!  Just tell me what to do.  I'm all ears."

Willow watched as the other women crossed to the other side of the room, Giles on their heels.  She knew what Buffy was doing, and she loved her for it.  What a great friend, she thought.  I just wish I could tell her the whole truth about the spell and what I did with Tony.

"So…"

The sound of Gino's voice brought her back from her thoughts, and the redhead faced him with a small smile.  "So…"

"You going to head back to your place for a nap before work tonight?"

"No.  I thought I'd have a nap…here."  Carefully, she stood and eased herself onto his lap, forcing him ever so gently to lean back in his seat to accommodate her slight form against him.  "If you don't mind."

Spike hid his smile as he rose from his seat, giving the pair the privacy they didn't seem to care if they had.  Go for it, Red, he thought.  Grab it while you can…

To be continued in Chapter 31: All This and Heaven, Too…


	31. All This, and Heaven Too

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Xander has discovered the identity of the safety, and the rest of the gang has snuck Gino out of the hospital after Willow's spell worked even better than she'd hoped…

*************

Closing the door behind her, she pressed herself back into its wood and watched as Gino stood before the full-length mirror, shirt off, staring at his reflection. His hand rubbed distractedly over the spot where he'd been shot, the skin unblemished, just as it would've been prior to his run-in with Marty, just as if nothing had ever happened.  Although she had hardly expected the result she got, Willow wasn't arguing with it, relieved at least that he wasn't going to be forced to suffer needlessly because of her.  And of course…that he wasn't going to die.

"Buffy shouldn't be too long getting your things," she offered softly.  "Are you hungry?  Spike offered to order in for us, or cook, or something."  She paused, giving him a small smile.  "We could get Chinese."

"Nah, I'm jake," he replied, his voice just as low, still absorbed in his examination. 

When he lapsed back into the silence that had consumed him since hearing the Scoobies' story, Willow bit her lip.  This somber stranger had been occupying Gino's body for enough time now for her to start worrying she had broken what connection they had achieved.  He was so distant now, and though he had responded to her ministrations with his usual gentle courtesy, she couldn't help the question that still remained in her head.  Had she lost him by saving his life?

"You don't hate me, do you?"  She blurted the question before she could stop herself, her mouth miles ahead of her brain, and blushed as she recognized the desperation in it.  Go ahead and confirm the fact that you're a total geek, she thought.  A graceless, needy, over-sensitive geek.

Gino's head jerked as if stung, his black gaze jumping to meet hers in the mirror.  "Why would you ask something like that?" he asked.  "Look what you did for me.  I'd have to be a real palooka not to appreciate it."

"Just 'cause you appreciate something, doesn't mean you have to like it," she said.  "Like, I can appreciate that brussel sprouts are packed full of vitamin goodness, but that doesn't mean I'm ever going to enjoy eating them."

His face softened.  "You're not a brussel sprout."

"And you're not answering my question."

"That's because it's a dumb question."  At her look of surprise, he sighed.  "I thought you got it, Willow.  I don't know what guys you know, but I can't just turn my feelings on and off like some light switch.  I dunno, maybe that makes me a sucker.  But just 'cause you did what you did doesn't mean how I feel about you changes."

She allowed herself to take a step toward him.  "But…it feels like my mouth is the only one that's really working here.  I mean, usually, you don't have any problems talking to me, but ever since…"  Her green eyes were hurt, shining in the artificial light of the room, and Gino dropped his own from them, returning to gaze at his abdomen in the mirror.

"I'm not wise about how you can do such stuff," he said, the hypnotic quality of his voice almost a rumble between the walls.  "All that hocus-pocus seems like it comes straight out of the movies to me.  But you can.  And if I thought you were special before, this only proves that."  In that nervous way of his she'd begun to identify with him, Gino's hands began clenching at his sides, balling into fists so tight that his knuckles cracked, then relaxing, stretching, only to repeat the process.  "I'm just a dumb mug trying to stay out of dutch when I can.  I can't do magic, or fight these monsters you talk about.  Hell, it doesn't even look like I'm going to have a job once Mr. Lombardi finds out about my disappearing act.  How'm I supposed to rate with you in the face of all that?"

It was so ironic; after years of feeling inadequate herself, Willow had missed recognizing it in the dark-haired bouncer, hardly expecting to find here of all places someone who might understand what it felt like to be the shadow who was always there but never seen, the wallflower who always managed to be standing next to the sunlight that captured everyone's attention.  It wasn't that he had all of a sudden decided not to like her anymore; it was that, all of a sudden, she was seeing how little he valued himself.

Crossing the room to stand behind him, she reached her arms around his waist, leaning her cheek against his back.  "First of all, you're not dumb," she said.  "And if you say that again, I'll have Buffy kick you into next Tuesday."

Although she couldn't see it, Gino grinned at the sudden image of the petite blonde trying to take him on.  They had mentioned how strong she was, but until he saw it for himself, there was no way he was going to believe it.  

"Secondly," Willow continued, "you don't have a monopoly on feelings.  Why do you think I did the spell in the first place?"

He had been avoiding thinking of that, avoided considering the implications the magnitude of her deed suggested.  It meant more hope than he thought he could bear at the moment.  It was just enough to believe that she liked him; to suppose the redhead might in any way reciprocate the depth of his feelings was more than Gino thought possible.

His dark head lowered, gazing down at the lightly freckled arm across his stomach, her thin hands spread against his skin, and gently began stroking the angular bones of her wrist.  "You didn't tell me what happens when you leave," he said.  

He felt her stiffen.  "Because we don't know.  It makes sense to think you'll probably go back to the way things were before we got here in the first place, you know…forget everything and resume life as normal."

As Willow began to pull away, he caught her wrist between his fingers, turning so that he could look down at her, holding her still as his other hand reached up and pushed her bangs away from her eyes.  "But I don't want to forget," he murmured.

She swallowed.  "Neither do I."  The breath choked in her throat as Gino's head came down, his lips brushing over hers in a velvet caress, the hand that had been touching her hair sliding around to the back of her neck as if by holding her, he could imagine that all of what she said wasn't real, that she wasn't going anywhere, that it could just be the two of them…in this room…in this moment.

"I don't feel like sleeping," Willow whispered as his mouth left hers, green eyes flickering up to gaze into his, drowning in the black pools as she began stepping backward.  

Though he was easily twice her size, the dark-haired bouncer allowed himself to be guided to the edge of the bed, the lavender comforter sinking beneath his weight, his hands suddenly seeming too large, too clumsy in light of the atmosphere's delicacy.  When she leaned into him, breasts pressing against his bare arm as she sought another kiss, Gino felt the heat coming off her in waves, her hunger a palpable force, almost a third presence within the room.  It was dizzying, and he had to fight the urge to just grab her, remembering how tiny she was in comparison to his bulk.

Willow broke off from the kiss, tucking her legs underneath her as she knelt on the bed next to him.  "Why do you do that?" she asked softly.

"What?"  The sudden dismay that perhaps he was hurting her, or upsetting her in some way, was crushing.  

"I'm not a doll.  I won't break."  With the blood roaring through her head like the ocean during a storm, she slowly straddled his lap, pressing herself down into his growing erection, the walls of fabric the only barriers between them.  "You don't have to be afraid."  Her boldness surprised even her, but the fear that they would lose this intimacy far outweighed any sense of shyness that might have tethered her.

His fingers fumbled on the buttons of her blouse, and Willow reached up to place her own over his, guiding his movements as they undid the fastenings, her eyes fixed on his as if by doing so it would bolster his confidence.  It seemed to be all Gino needed.  When the fine lace of her bra was exposed, his hands slid under the shirt's cotton to grasp the redhead's upper arms, pulling her against him as their lips met in yet another kiss.

She had known he wanted her, could feel the proof between her legs, but the need in his exploration of her mouth was more than even their session outside her apartment…god, was it just yesterday?  So much had happened since then, and yet, here they were, almost picking up where they had left off twenty-four hours earlier, just as if he had never been shot.  A twinge of guilt threatened to extinguish the flame that was already igniting in her, and she quickly stamped it down, refusing to allow anything to spoil what could very likely be their only time together.

Willow met his kiss with matching ardor, arms reaching around him to hold him against her, to feel his chest rub against her nipples through the sheer lace of her underwear.  The friction was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before.  Loving Oz had been sweet and wonderful, but with the wolf always inside him, he'd seemed afraid of unleashing anything darker in their lovemaking and she had let him have that.  Now, there was Gino, someone just as strong, just as gentle, but this time, she wasn't going to let him off that easy.  He would push as hard as she would allow him to; she only had to say the word.

Somehow, her shirt ended up on the floor, with her bra following closely after, and Willow felt his hands splay across her back as his mouth worked expertly over hers.  There was no hesitation now---both of them knew exactly where this was going---and their tongues danced, swallowing down the other, getting drunk on the sensations that rippled through their bodies.  She was excited, could feel the moisture in the depths of her panties, and was just starting to wonder what he was going to do about it when she felt the world tip around her as Gino twisted and turned, lowering her back onto the bed without breaking the rhythm of their kisses.

He seemed so much bigger in that position, shoulders blocking out the light from overhead, weight pressing into her hips, that for a moment, Willow wondered just what she was doing.  It was fleeting though, as his mouth left hers and began raining butterfly kisses over her face…the tip of her nose, the contour of her cheekbones, the arc of her brow.  The restrained power within those movements was enough to reassure her just who this man really was, and that she would be totally safe with him…no matter what.

When his hands came up to stroke the hair out of her face, her eyes fluttered open, her breathing ragged, as she stared up at him.  "I couldn't ever hate you," he murmured.  "Not my Willow."

The tiny smile she offered in response was sad, the knowledge that she'd be leaving this behind all too much real, and she swallowed hard, turning her head to catch his palm with her mouth, running her tongue over the callouses that defined them.  Don't think, she ordered herself.  Just be.  

Gino groaned at the feel of her mouth and slowly, deliberately, lowered his free hand to his belt, undoing the buckle before he felt her fingers join his.  "I can do that," she said, completing the job, sliding inside the waistband of both his pants and his boxers to ease them over his hips, allowing his erection to spring free.  When she grasped his cock, it was an echo of her earlier touch, forcing the hiss through his teeth.  He hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the initiative, letting his hands alight on her own trousers as the redhead slowly pumped up and down his length.

Seeing her lying naked underneath him tightened the band around Gino's chest, forcing the air to expel from his lungs, devouring her with his black gaze before sliding his body alongside hers to stretch out on top of the comforter.  Willow rolled onto her own side, her touch never leaving his erection.  "I'm not going to have to play teacher again, am I?" she teased, the smile on her lips and the light in her eyes telling him how untrue she knew that statement to be.  

The dark-haired bouncer smiled.  "I've already told you," he said.  "I'm a man who works with my hands."

She giggled.  "It feels funny doing this on Buffy's bed."

"Do you want to stop?  Or move?"

"No," she said, shaking her head.  "She knew what she was doing when she got rid of the gang.  And I want this too much to stop now."

Gino leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers.  "I won't hurt you," he promised.

"I know."

Their kiss deepened, and he pressed her back into the bed again, holding himself on his forearms as he shifted his weight over her.  He wasn't sure what to expect---to think that she might've been a virgin was horribly naïve, he knew, especially considering how knowledgeable she seemed in touching him---but as he slowly pressed into her, Gino was surprised at her tightness, feeling her expand suction to accommodate him, the eddies of pleasure it was creating in him driving him to go deeper…to thrust harder.

She never made a sound, just matched him kiss for kiss, clung to his bare shoulders with those tiny but powerful hands, and waited for him to bury himself within her.  When he felt her pelvis pressing against his, he stopped, holding himself there, knowing in that moment that the woman beneath him, an intricate mystery within her own simplicity, owned him.

Willow was the one to initiate the movement, pulling herself slightly away to force him to begin the outward trip, and Gino picked up on the rhythm…long, slow strokes as he thrust in and out.  His tongue licked at her earlobes as her breathing grew more and more ragged, the sweat starting to run in rivulets down their chests, easing the friction between them, each drag across his coarse hair sending electric shocks through her skin.

Neither wanted it to end, but as their pace quickened, their mouths growing more desperate, the fires inside them swelled, burgeoning beyond their control, and Willow felt the first spasms begin rocking her, tightening around him as he buried his face in her neck.  When they exploded throughout her body, the shivers became uncontrollable, and she bucked underneath his mass, thrusting upward as if to meld her hips to him.

"God…Gino…" she panted, and grabbed his head to bring his mouth to hers, crushing him to her in a last-minute attempt to swallow him whole.

As he came, his body froze, and he almost forgot about trying to keep his weight from crushing her into the mattress, his arms tremoring as if he'd been lifting weights for hours.  The world tunnelled around him, and Gino sucked at her mouth, gulping her air in order to replace that which had escaped him, his head swimming against a scarlet tide.  No amount of fantasizing could've prepared him for this; Willow's need engulfed him, and he willingly gave himself over to it.

He was in heaven.

*************

When he heard the door open and close, knowing she was home, the corner of Spike's mouth lifted.  Bugger if Buffy wasn't domesticating him; here he was thinking of this as home already.

"Get everything?" he asked when she appeared in the doorway.

"Yep.  Are they…?"

He nodded.  "That was a good thing you did for them, Buffy.  Red needed that."

The vamp watched as she crossed to the bed, flopping back against the black satin.  "You think?" she said.  "'Cause I'm not convinced."  She propped herself up on her elbows and gazed over at Spike, sprawled in the chair, his mug forgotten in his hand.  "It's so fast, and she's still trying to get over Oz.  I just…it's just not Will.  She's acting so…reckless.  What if her spell had backfired?  I mean, look at what her will-it-so spell did."

"Yeah, it opened the door for you and me, pet."

"And had half of Sunnydale's demon population on our heels, too, remember?  I want her to be happy, smiley Willow again, but I don't think she's being smart about this.  She's just not thinking."

Spike's head tilted, his blue eyes steady.  "So?" he said.  "If you ask me, it's about bleedin' time.  Red needs to start listening to other parts of her body other than her head for a change."

"Since when you are Mr. Insightful on Willow's lovelife?" Buffy asked, eyebrows lifting.

"Since I bothered to listen to her dish about Gino," he retorted.  "When was the last time you two had a heart to heart?  A _real_ heart to heart?"

Biting her lip, the Slayer sat up, turning away from his knowing eyes.  She hated it when he was right, especially about something as personal as her friendships.  It had been far too long since she and Willow had had a serious girl talk.  Oh, sure, they'd had tons of light moments, laughing and joking, but did she really know what was going on between her and the dark-haired bouncer?

Spike sipped at his blood. "Don't be fussed 'bout it, luv," he soothed.  "Red knows you've got other things to be frettin' on."

"I know."  She sighed.  "She's a better friend than I am."

The vampire watched as the young blonde rose from the bed and began prowling around the room like a caged animal.  The events of the day were still wound tightly within her---whether she realized it or not---and the prospect of unleashing it brought a familiar hardening to his crotch.  "So," he drawled.  "We've got…what?  Three, four hours to kill before work?"

"Yeah," Buffy said distractedly.  "You think we'll be able to get into the other room before then?"

Remembering the moans he'd heard during the Slayer's absence, Spike shook his head, a wry grin on his face.  "I wouldn't count on that, pet."

She stood in front of the wardrobe and pulled open the doors, grimacing at the sight of the various costumes, plucking at a boa that dangled below.  "You think I have any real clothes in here?"

"Dunno.  But I'd wager that leather bit would be quite fetchin' on you."

She rolled her eyes at his licentious smirk, pulling open a drawer only to immediately frown.  "What are these?" she asked, pulling out a pair of small metal balls strung on a strand of tight cord.

Spike grinned.  "Nothin' you need," he said.  "Trust me."

"But what are they?"

"They're called ben wa balls."  He stood and sauntered to her side, taking the toy from her grasp to roll them around in the palm of his hand.

Buffy watched as Spike tossed the toy aside, then leaned forward to rummage through the open drawer.  "Is this your idea of killing time?" she teased, her voice husky.

"Got a better idea?" The velvet dangled from his fingers.  "I'd say we deserve some down time."

"That doesn't look like down time, Spike.  That looks like a blindfold."  But she didn't move as he slid it over her eyes, tightening it against her golden tresses.

"All in good fun, luv."  She heard him move away and started to turn, only to be stopped when he spoke again.  "Stop," he ordered, the command in his voice unmistakeable.  "Stay there."

"It's not like I've never been blindfolded before," she said, the tingle of excitement still shading her voice.  "Giles uses this technique all the time when I'm training."

"If I find out Rupert does what I'm about to," Spike responded from somewhere on the other side of the room, "I'm goin' to start sittin' in on those sessions."

Her heart was pounding in her chest as Buffy focussed her senses on the vampire and his unknown actions, straining to decipher the confluence of sounds that floated to her ears.  A drawer opening…fabric rustling, maybe silk?...the drawer sliding closed again.  So he'd taken something out, but what?  

"Trust me."  He was at her side again, so fast she hadn't even heard him, his cool lips grazing her earlobe before trailing down the side of her neck.  Whatever he'd retrieved was no longer in his hands because they both came up to undo her blouse, pulling it from the waistband of her pants as he slipped it over her shoulders, his teeth nibbling on the top of her shoulders as they became exposed to the air.

Buffy sighed, her head tilting to the side to allow Spike better access, her breath catching as his fingers caught her nipples in a teasing pinch.  Her skin was crawling with individual licks of fire, parting only to allow his icy touch passage as he travelled downward, releasing the button on her trousers, pushing them down over her hips to allow them to crumple into a heap around her ankles.  Even she could smell her excitement now, and the vampire's unmistakeable growl as the scent assailed him sent shivers across the surface of her back.

His body didn't move, but somehow, his hands disappeared for what seemed like eternity.  "Spike…" she whispered.

"Ssshhh," he responded, more of a breath than an actual word.  "Don't you trust me…?"

"…yes…"

She waited, knowing he was there but ignorant of what he was doing, and was about to speak again when the first tickling began across her collarbone.  It was barely there, just a wisp really, but it knew its path, and floated down, between her breasts…under the right and then over it…repeating the pattern in reverse on the left.  That was when she decided it had to be a feather, some toy he'd rummaged from the trunk most likely, and gasped as Spike's hand reached around the inside of her thigh, pulling her legs apart, allowing the feather to dance down the tender flesh there, sending an array of goosebumps skittering across her skin.

When the moan escaped her throat, she felt his hand rise and gently cover her mouth, turning her head slightly so that his mouth was back at her ear.  "Mustn't disturb our guests," he murmured.  "So good little Slayers stay quiet, understand?"

She almost started to speak, then remembered and nodded instead, rewarded very quickly with his chuckle.  "Just remember that when I'm buried inside you, luv," he said.

When he moved away again, Buffy wanted to scream in frustration, the absence of even the feather too much for her aching body to bear.  She held her breath, trying to hear him, wondering how, in spite of so many training sessions with Giles where he'd purposely blinded her, she could still feel so completely helpless, unaware of her surroundings.  Must be the excitement, she reasoned.  Focus and calm yourself down.

Those instructions were for naught when he spoke again.  "Follow my voice," he said, and she turned, concentrating on the baritone as she stepped forward…once…twice…and on the third, made contact with the edge of the bed.  "Lie down."

She did as she was told, wondering not for the first time why she was agreeing to this, knowing without having to answer what the truth of it really was.  The first time they'd played a game like this, it had been about Spike and his power.  She knew that and had let him do it anyway.  This time was different, but just how different, she knew she was only about to discover. 

The satin beneath her back warmed as she waited, unable to stop squirming as the anticipation built within her skin.  When she felt his cool fingers hook around the sides of her panties, tugging them downward, her hips lifted off the bed in an attempt to expedite their removal, only to be pushed down again by a firm hand once her underwear was free.  "Don't move," he said, and the mattress sprang back as it was relieved of his weight.

Nothing was keeping her on the bed.  All she had to do was sit up, untie the blindfold, and this game would be over.  But Buffy didn't want to do that.  The expectation of what he might do next was driving her over the edge of reason, her sense of touch suddenly attuned to greater heights than when was slaying, and the young woman wanted only to feel Spike's cool body pressed against hers, his cock thrusting in and out of her wetness, grinding away with that power only he seemed capable of controlling.  Though she knew it would come---he had said as much---he was making her wait for it, building her need until it blinded her, rising in her throat until there was no room for air.  

When it came, it wasn't what she was expecting, a cool hardness that lacked the texture of the vampire's touch.  It pressed lightly against her, sliding down to outline her swollen labia in slippery juices, nudging at it with a hard insistence.  Lightly, she pushed back, feeling it penetrate just ever so slightly, only to feel a familiar tongue flick over her clit.  The realization that not even Spike was that good of a contortionist, that it was some toy---a vibrator of some sort?---pressing into her only seemed to fuel the fire, and she reached down and entangled her fingers in the blond curls they found, holding him in place.

He didn't allow the toy to move as he slid up her body, keeping it lodged so delicately within her, pumping it just enough to send tremors of electricity through her pelvis.  When his lips met hers, she tasted herself on him, and realized that sometime while she'd been waiting, he'd removed his own clothing so that his cool musculature now conjoined with hers.  She ached to turn into him, but feared that by doing so, his response would be to force her to wait even longer for satisfaction so she stayed where she was, allowing him to ravish her mouth with his tongue.

Gently, Spike rolled her onto her side, her back to him, and she felt his cock begin nuzzling her ass.  His arms slid around her, one around her breasts, the other on her mound, and buried his face in the curve of her neck, lapping at the sweaty tang of her skin.  As he felt her body relax against him, he began pressing himself forward, coating his erection with her moisture, pushing himself into her, his long fingers playing amidst the tight curls in the front.

Without being able to see, Buffy lost herself in the sensations…the steady thrusts, each one just slightly more forceful than the last…his mouth still sucking at her neck, numbing that one spot to anything but his tongue…the inferno in her pelvis as his touch became more insistent…

When her orgasm came and her inner walls squeezed around him, Spike allowed his demon to emerge for the first time during their lovemaking, gently sinking his fangs into the reddened patch on her neck, feeling her pumping blood seep past his tongue, driving him over the edge so that he spasmed, shooting deep inside her with a final powerful thrust.  Her body twisted in his embrace but he held her firm, refusing to allow her to escape the sensations as they overwhelmed the both of them.  

By the time the shudders had subsided, the blond vampire had returned to his human visage and was lapping at the tiny scarlet pinpricks that adorned her neck, easing the slight sting that remained with his tongue.  She was limp in his arms, her eyes closed, the unmistakeable purr in the back of her throat his only indication that she was even still awake.  Carefully, he reached up and undid the blindfold, tossing it aside with a quick flick of his wrist.

Buffy blinked against the sudden illumination, and decided instead to keep her eyes closed, nestling back against his sculpted chest.  She knew what he had done, but knew also it wasn't about the feeding, having experienced how much more intense her orgasm was feeling the fiery sucking, connecting to the heat of her hips with some flaming invisible string.  If that had been what it was like for her, what on earth did it do to Spike?

"Thank you," she heard him murmur into her skin, and smiled, feeling the luxury of sleep beginning to overtake her.  No, she thought between clouds of down, thank you…

To be continued in Chapter 32: The Lady Is a Tramp…


	32. The Lady Is a Tramp

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Gino is staying with Buffy and Spike after getting healed by Willow's spell, while Buffy has come up with a plan to confirm that Mack is the safety.

*************

"I hate this plan, I hate this plan, and have I said?  I _hate this plan."  Xander paced behind the couch, his normally relaxed face dark with anger, while the rest of the gang just watched from their various seats throughout the room._

"If you've got a better one, I'd love to hear it," Buffy offered.  "But I sure as hell can't think of any other way to find out for sure if Mack's the safety or not."

"But why Anya?  Why can't it be somebody else?"

"Are you volunteering?" the Slayer shot back, knowing it wasn't really an option.  "Look, Anya's the only one he doesn't know.  Willow's not on the roster, and after everything that's gone down between him and Spike, there's no way I can get close enough to him without him suspecting something.  And Anya doesn't mind."

Xander glanced at his girlfriend, who shook her head innocently.  Snorting, he stopped in front of where Spike was leaning against the wall.  "Do you at least see my problem with this?" he demanded.  "How would you feel if it was Buffy who had to sleep with this sleazeball?"

"I'd kill him," the vampire said calmly.  "But the Slayer's right.  Anya's the only girl in this room who can do this without gettin' herself in trouble."

The girl in question rose from her seat and placed her hand on her boyfriend's arm.  "Just let it go, Xander.  If this is what it takes to get us home, then that's it.  End of story."  She leaned up to kiss him, only to be met with his cheek when he abruptly turned his head.  "Fine," she retorted, suddenly angry.  "Be a baby.  See if I care.  I'm only doing this to save your butt from that whole death clause anyway."

"Trust me, I am so far from being happy in this place, my butt is the last thing you have to be worrying about," he replied harshly.

"Please!" Giles' voice was sharp, cutting through the argument, silencing it with that one word.  "The debate is over.  None of us are pleased with the plan, Xander, but at this juncture, it's our only option."

Muttering under his breath, the young man collapsed on the couch, arms folded across his chest, brown eyes thunderous as he glared at those around him.  It had been a day of hell for him, first walking in on Buffy and Spike getting married, then hours of having to listen to Mack go on about business he didn't understand anyway, and now finding out his girlfriend was going to play this roster thing to the hilt in order to see if the club owner had Melinda's mark.  What had happened to having your greatest desire fulfilled? he grumbled silently.  A root canal would be better than this right now.

"So we're settled then," Buffy said.  "Everybody goes about business as usual until we hear from Anya.  Any questions?"  She glanced around the gang, eyes finally settling on Gino.  He'd been quiet ever since he'd emerged from the bedroom with Willow, but his silence was different from that earlier.  Now, it was more thoughtful, less broody, as if many of his doubts had been lifted.  She didn't question how that had happened; she hadn't seen her best friend glow this radiantly since long before Oz had left.  Definitely going to have that girl talk tonight, she thought.  Most definitely.  "What about you, Gino?" she asked.  "Anything you want cleared up?"

The dark bouncer shook his head, a wry smile briefly lighting up his face.  "Don't think even I can mess up driving Willow and Anya to the club," he joked.  The small ripple of laughter that went through the room eased the tension somewhat, and Gino visibly relaxed into his seat.  

A bemused Giles glanced around the lounge's occupants.  "Do you know what I've just realized?" he said.  "I believe this is the first time we've ever had more men involved in Slayer business than women."  A wide-eyed Buffy tilted her head to look at her Watcher, her arms folded over her breasts.  Under her close scrutiny, his blue eyes ducked.  "It was just an observation," he commented.

*************

The car rounded the corner and Spike saw the lights of the club beckoning down the street, merging with the twinkling stars above in a nightly rainbow that almost seemed too much like home.  Not Sunnydale home, but home as that elusive definition of comfort.  For a fleeting second, the blond vamp realized that he was actually going to miss this place, although no way in hell could he tell Buffy that.  She certainly wouldn't understand.

She seemed lost in thought, and he briefly wondered what was going through that head of hers, whether she was considering Red and Gino, or the plan on getting out of here, or something else entirely.  He was hoping for something else entirely, because that left the door open for the Slayer to be thinking of him, but with so much going on right now, he wasn't holding his breath.  Even if he had breath to hold.

As the car slowed before the door of the club, Spike slid forth a foot and nudged her nylon-clad toes with his shoe, gently bringing her back to earth.  "Showtime," he said, a half-smile twisting his lips, and watched as she pulled the ring from her purse, sliding it over her knuckle and twisting it into place.  He still wore his, hadn't taken it off since that morning, and knew she didn't really understand why.  That's OK, luv, he thought.  Someday, you'll get it.

He was out of the door like a shot, around the rear of the car, holding open her door before Buffy could even blink, his hand outstretched to take hers as she slid from her seat.  The genteel manners still managed to throw her every single time, no matter how many doors he held for her.  When we get back to Sunnydale, she thought, I don't know what I'll do if he throws his duster over a puddle like that dead English guy.  And almost laughed out loud as she realized, Spike _is a dead English guy.  _

"No fighting," Buffy warned.  "Try and avoid Mack if you can."

"'Cause blokes like him don't need to use doors," he commented dryly.  

"He might come in the back."

Spike rolled his eyes.  "Luv, hate to break it to you, but he's not the type to come back with his tail between his legs.  Especially not when he owns the place."

She bit her lip.  "Maybe he'll change his mind and won't come in at all.  Or maybe Xander misunderstood him when he said he would show up tonight."

"And maybe Rupes will throw us an engagement party when we get back to Sunnyhell.  Look, Buffy, he's goin' to show.  As long as _you're here, __he's goin' to be here."_

He knew from the look in her eyes that she understood that was the truth, even if she didn't like it.  "At least it looks like this is our last night," she said, resigned.  "No more creepy little guys macking on the Slayer once we get back home."

As Buffy turned away to walk to the rear of the club, Spike's hand reached out and pinched playfully at her ass.  "Not if I have anything to say 'bout it," he teased.

*************

Xander's hands drummed nervously on his knees as the car pulled up in front of the club, his eyes darting nervously over to where Mack sat, staring out the window, his face grim.  He'd been surprised when he'd shown up at the penthouse; many of the bruises that the boss had been sporting were already gone, as was all of the swelling in his face.  Only the occasional wince as he twisted his upper body gave any indication that he had been in any sort of a fight.  He heals faster than even Buffy does, the young man thought.

He had yet to bring up Anya, and the prospect of walking into the club and seeing her fawn all over the painting boss was turning his stomach.  Spike would already be at the door, and that would be bad enough to listen to; Mack had made it very clear to Xander that he wanted to discuss the Spike issue some point this evening.  He wasn't sure what it was going to entail, but based on his conversations this afternoon, he knew it wasn't going to be good.

Mr. Lombardi was waiting for them when the chauffeur opened the doors.  "Glad to see you're up and about," he said, the obsequious smile too wide on his face.  "We've had some excitement 'round here since you've been out of it."

"Yes, I've heard," Mack said quietly.

"Gino---."

"---got clipped, yes, I know."  He brushed past the club's manager and was halfway to the door, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his wool coat when Lombardi's voice came filtering to him.

"And then there's Buffy and Spike."

Mack stopped, and glanced back at him over his shoulder.  "What about them?" he asked, his voice low and even.

Lombardi laughed.  "Those crazy kids.  They decided they couldn't wait any longer and went and got themselves hitched this morning.  Said they got tired of waiting."

Xander kept a close eye on his boss, watching his lips thin, his nostrils flare, but otherwise, showing no outward sign of emotion regarding the announcement.  "I suppose that means Buffy's on her…honeymoon," Mack said.

"Nah.  Buffy's a pro, been on the clock since the first customer walked through the door.  In fact, she was actually one of the first dames in tonight.  Marriage must be agreeing with her."

The small joke fell on deaf ears, and the boss glanced at the front door of the club, grey eyes intent.  "She didn't say," he murmured.

Lombardi cleared his throat, the panic in his face barely in control.  "Since Gino's out of commission, I asked Spike if he'd come back to work," he said.

Mack's head shot around.  "What?" he demanded, and Xander saw for the first time since arriving in the painting the power in the smaller man's visage, the refined mask he usually wore stripped away to reveal the cunning shell underneath.  There was a reason he was so feared, and he was only now getting a glimpse of it.

"Look," the manager rushed.  "Spike's the best, and with Gino gone, we need him here until I can find a replacement.  And face it, he didn't do anything you haven't done for Buffy in the past.  Remember that mug who hit her while they were dancing?  The coppers still haven't finished finding his body parts."  He took a deep breath.  "She loves him, Mack, and hell, he's proved he's dizzy for her.  I know he shouldn't have done what he did, but it's over, it's done with, and it's not going to happen again.  I've got Spike's word on that.  Plus, he knows this is only temporary until I get Gino back."  Unless I can talk you into letting him stay on, Lombardi added silently.

The air lay thick between them as Xander watched his boss consider this latest development.  He had to admit, it was a convincing argument.  The question was, was it convincing enough?

Turning on his heel, Mack began walking back up to the club, all evidence that he'd heard anything out of the ordinary gone from his slight form.  "Come, Xander," he said.  "I'm in the mood for a little distraction.  Perhaps of the female variety."

*************

The club was quiet, and Spike realized he was already beginning to recognize the regulars, knowing which ones might cause trouble and which ones were completely harmless.  Most of tonight's patrons were of the latter variety, which made his job relatively simple…and incredibly boring.  He'd been keeping himself awake by watching Buffy on the dance floor, but every time she started in with the flirting, the rage would rise in his throat and he'd have to look away, unable to watch lest his jealousy take the better of him.  Logic told him he had nothing to worry about, but that didn't stop the feelings, and it certainly didn't mean he had to stand there and watch it.

It was those times he'd watch Red instead, amused at her exuberant mood this evening, laughing away the one or two times she'd fallen over on her bottom as she teetered around in those godawful shoes.  He'd even caught her chatting up one or two of the band members when she passed by them, including good ol' bugle boy himself.  Only thing was, she'd just gone on her break, disappearing through the back door, and Spike was left trying to entertain himself again.

When he saw Tony lean over and whisper to the musician next to him, rising from his seat at the same time, the vampire's eyes narrowed.  He still thought something was funny about the trumpet player, and whether Buffy thought it was necessary or not, Spike planned on keeping an eye on him.  Just might be time for my own break, he thought, and straightened, ready to follow the other man to the back.

The door opening behind him halted his move, garnering his attention as his blond head swivelled around to see who the newest arrival was.  The muscle in his cheek twitched as Mack strolled through, followed closely by Xander.  Bloody hell, he grumbled.  Thought Buffy said he looked a little worse for wear.  If it wasn't for the faint discoloration around the man's jaw, Spike would never have known he'd had a severe beating only a few days previous.  She must've been wantin' to spare my feelings, he thought.  Must be losin' my touch.

There was only a moment's hesitation as Mack espied the blond bouncer and slowly approached him, closing the distance in just a few short steps.  "Not that I'm forgetting what you did," the owner said, "but I know when to accept defeat graciously."  He stuck out his right hand.  "Congratulations on your…wedding."

Spike's head tilted as his gaze flickered from the proffered hand, to Mack's unsmiling face, and then to meet Xander's eyes.  Harris' infinitesimal nod went unseen by his boss, and slowly, the vamp extended his own grip to lightly clasp the other's.  "Thanks."

Both withdrew almost immediately, and Mack turned to face the crowd.  "So, where's this new girl we're supposed to have?" he said, and without looking back, walked over to the bar.

*************

I am _not going to miss these shoes, Willow grumbled, sliding the leather strap over her heel as she held herself steady with the door jamb.  Here's hoping Anya comes through and this'll be my last night of torture.  She wasn't expecting anyone there when she pulled open the dressing room door, stumbling into his chest before latching onto his jacket, yanking clumsily at his sleeve as she struggled to right herself.  _

Tony smiled, hands sliding under her elbows, enjoying the all too-fleeting pressure of her body against his before stepping back.  "The shoes'll get you every time," he joked.

Straightening, Willow smiled.  "You on break?"

"Actually, I just ducked back to find out how you were doing.  You don't seem so…flustered as you were this morning."

"No, things are good."

"And Gino?  I take it, the spell worked out OK?"

She nodded.  "He's fi---.  Going to be fine."  There was an awkward pause as they each regarded the other.  "And you?  I left kind of quick after we did your spell.  Did it turn out the way you wanted?"

"Yes, most definitely," Tony said with a happy smile.  "Thank you again.  It's nice to be able to work with someone who understands it all."

"Yeah, well…"  She was growing uncomfortable, eyes darting around the dark hall.  The fewer reminders she had about helping the musician, the happier Willow would be.  "I should probably get back to work," she chirped, edging past him.  "Talk to you later."

As she scurried away, her ankle turning once beneath her, the redhead exhaled loudly.  Thank God Buffy didn't see me, she thought.  I'd never get out of having to explain that one.

"Tell me I didn't just hear that."  Spike emerged from the recesses of the wall, arms folded across his tuxedoed chest, sapphire eyes glittering in the dim light as he gazed at Willow.

She jumped.  "Why do you vampires always have to sneak up on people?" she demanded, her heart racing.  

"It's not sneakin' if you're not movin'," he replied.  "You walked up to me.  From talkin' to bugle boy.  About magic and spells."

The two stared at each other, the redhead jumpy, the blond cool, both knowing the truth would be out before either stepped away.  Finally, Willow sighed.  "I couldn't do it by myself, Spike.  I needed his help."

"Well, at least that explains why Gino's bullet went bye-bye.  What was that I heard about…his spell?"

"It was just a protection spell, no big.  And it was the only way I could get him to help me.  Don't tell Buffy, please, Spike?  She won't understand."

"_I_ don't understand, Red.  And there's no way you can ask me to keep a secret from Buffy.  Shame on you."

"But it doesn't matter anyway," she rushed, pulling him aside for just a bit more privacy.  "We've found the safety, you and Buffy will take care of him, and we'll be home before morning.  No harm, no foul, right?"

"You can't keep this kind of information from the Slayer---."

"Oh, really?  What about not telling her about how you went and saw Tony?  During the day?  At his apartment?  And telling him all about Buffy being the Slayer?  That sounds like a huge, fat secret to me, Spike."

"It was unnecessary information---."

"As is this."  She jumped on his words.  "The spell was for him, just to protect him from dying.  It doesn't affect us at all.  Just like _how_ you got your information doesn't affect us, either.  So…you don't tell her about this, and I won't tell her about that, OK?"  

He didn't like it, and he _knew Buffy wouldn't like it.  Everything about it smelled wrong to him, but there she stood, green eyes wide, just begging to be trusted with this, and Spike knew he wasn't going to be able say no to her.  It was the first time Willow had played her innocent-face-card with the vampire, but he had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't going to be the last.  Fuck._

"Fine," he growled.  "But I see one rat leave the ship, and I'm talkin' faster than you can say slayer, got it?"  The vehemence of her nod was all he needed before whirling on his heel and disappearing back up to the front.  Stupid bloody women, he thought, as he marched back to his post.  Why are they always fallin' for the bugle boy's routine?  

*************

Anya's eyes widened as she walked into the penthouse, drinking in the obvious wealth surrounding her, biting her lip as her fingers danced over a porcelain statue near the front entrance.  "Nice place you've got," she said as calmly as she could, and practically ran when she saw the H'roven over the fireplace.  

Mack watched in amusement as he removed his coat, draping it over the back of the couch.  Although she certainly wasn't Buffy, the new girl had definitely been a pleasant diversion for most of the evening, keeping him sufficiently distracted from staring at the other woman for at least part of the night.  When Xander had suggested trying her out, it had seemed like a good enough idea, but, now that they were back here at the penthouse, he was having second thoughts.

"Is that going to be it for tonight?" Xander's voice came from the doorway behind him, and Mack glanced back at his right-hand man, his grey eyes level, sensing the other's discomfort.

"Not just yet.  There's one more matter I'd like to discuss."  He glanced pointedly at Anya.

"Oh," she said.  "Gotcha.  That would be my cue to quietly walk out of the room and leave you two in privacy.  So, here I am, going to the bedroom, 'cause that's what I do…"  Although she was smiling brightly, her words trailed away as she looked around for the appropriate exit, both men just watching her and waiting, before she finally found the hall and strolled casually down it.

"Sit down," Mack instructed.

Xander frowned as he perched himself on the edge of the couch.  He'd had a lot of these kind of talks with his boss since arriving in the painting, but none of them had been prefaced like this before.  This was different…but different didn't necessarily mean good.

"I know I gave you a lot of stuff to tackle this afternoon," he was continuing.  "But something's come up that I want taken care of before all that."  

"Whatever it is, just say the word."  And thank god I probably won't have to be around much longer to actually do it, he thought gratefully.

"You know Buffy married Spike today." 

Xander locked his jaw.  "Yeah, kinda heard about that."

"To tell the truth, I didn't think she'd go through with it.  I thought she'd come to her senses and things could go back to the way they were before."  Mack was pacing around the room, lost in his own head, his ruminations relaxing the lines around his eyes.  "But that's not going to happen now.  It can't, really.  Which means I need you to take care of it for me."

"Take…care of it?"  Xander felt the bottom drop out of his stomach and leaned forward.

"My original plan was to just get rid of Spike, but as Buffy has so clearly made her choice, I see no reason why she shouldn't join him."  His lips curled into an angry smile.  "After all, she was the one who promised 'til death do they part.  I think that's going to be my wedding gift to the two lovebirds."  His grey eyes bore into Xander's.  "I don't care how you do it.  Shoot them, make it look like an accident, whatever.  Just make sure they both end up sleeping the big sleep…"

To be continued in Chapter 33: Mairzy Doats…


	33. Mairzy Doats

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Spike has discovered Willow helped Tony with a spell, Anya has been recruited to find out whether Mack has Melinda's mark on him, while Xander has been ordered by Mack to kill Buffy and Spike…

*************

It stared back at him, hands moving at that snail speed he'd hated so much in high school, gilt numbers etched onto its face as if to mock him with the potential of progress.  Three o'clock…wait…three-oh-one.  Xander sighed.  He still hadn't heard from Anya, or anyone else for that matter, and it was starting to eat at him, his spirits sinking lower and lower as time began pressing the thoughts into his brain.

Mack had better be the one, he despaired.  'Cause getting around this order to kill Spike and Buffy will be a doozy if we've got to stick around to find the real safety.  Not that killing the blond vampire would've been hard; more than once, Xander had contemplated that possibility already, envisioning lots of balloons and fanfare, maybe a ticker tape parade.  But Buffy was another matter entirely, and the fact that she would never let anyone but her hurt Spike was inescapable.  

He glanced over at the clock again.  Three-oh-three.  Shit.  

Somewhere, deep down---very deep down---Xander knew that the plan with Anya had been the only way to go, but he had surprised himself with how vehemently he'd opposed it, even going so far as seeking Spike's support in defending his point of view.  They certainly hadn't been going out for very long, and though she had been hinting lately at finding out where exactly they _were going, so far he had been able to avoid talking about it.  Now, he knew that once things were kosher again back in Sunnydale, he and Anya were going to have a sit-down, serious conversation on what exactly their relationship really was.  'Cause all this Mack business was showing Xander just how important she was becoming to him._

One more peek at the clock.  Three-oh-six.  

Where the hell was everybody?

*************

The flick of his cigarette butt through the open window left a scarlet trail through the night air as it arced into the gutter, and Spike leaned back into his seat, elbow propped up on the window as he watched the door of the club just half a block down the street.  Gino had parked far enough away so that if anyone came out, he wouldn't be recognized, but the distance was driving the blond vampire crazy.  What the hell was Buffy doin' in there?  Actually, he knew the answer to that, and it still didn't make him happy.  She was waitin' on her Watcher.

By the time Gino had left to come pick them up, Harris had yet to call, which meant that either demon-girl still hadn't found the mark or that Mack wasn't the safety after all.  Either way, Spike was starting to feel the edge begin to wear on him, and had gone through half a pack of cigarettes just waiting for the others to emerge from the club.  The cellophane crinkled between his fingers as he dug out the last white stick, sticking it between his lips as he cupped his hand around the end to light it.

"If you want, I know a place that's open all night where you could pick up some more," Gino offered from his seat behind the steering wheel.

Spike shook his head as he slowly exhaled.  "I'll just nick a pack from Red when she comes out," he said.

"If I've told you once, I've told you a million times.  Her name's Willow."

The vampire laughed out loud.  "Right, right.  I'll remember that."

There was a moment of silence between the two men, and then Gino audibly sighed.  "Willow thinks I'm going to forget everything about her and you guys after you manage to get home."

"Makes sense," Spike agreed.  "She's a smart one.  If that's what she says, I'd be inclined to believe her."

"I know she said it's dangerous for you guys to be here, but if I said I didn't want you to go, would you think I was off my rocker?"  He stared forward, unable to look over at his friend, his thick fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

"All of us?  Or just Re---Willow?" 

Gino's flush was evident, even in the dim light from the streetlamps.  "Well, mostly Willow," he conceded.  "But you, too, Spike.  You've been the best friend I've had since I was a kid.  I'm going to miss not having you around.  And Buffy's great, too.  Although I can't really see her doing the stuff Willow says she does.  She's not very big, is she?"

The vampire smiled.  "Don't be judgin' her based on her size," he said.  "She's kicked my ass around the block more than once."  Although he was keeping his tone light, Spike was thrown by his companion's statement regarding friendship.  When was the last time anyone had ever said anything like that to him?  The only one in recent memory who'd even tolerated his presence was Buffy, because that stupid bint Harmony sure as hell didn't count.  And Buffy was an entirely different matter.

"It's probably selfish not wanting you to go," Gino was saying.  "You guys got family back home, I'm sure.  And Willow said she was going to college.  I'd hate to think she couldn't do that anymore just because she stayed."

"It's not that.  Rules are different here.  At least back on the Hellmouth, we know how the game is played."

"Is it nice…where you guys come from?"

Spike shrugged.  "It's got its perks," he said.  "Doesn't make no never mind to me where I am, as long as Buffy's there."  His eyes narrowed, as he looked over at the other man.  "Where's all this goin'?" he asked.  

"I was just thinking…if it's not safe for Willow to stay here, maybe it might be an idea if I went with you guys when you left."  He met the blond's gaze.  "You think that's possible?"

"Knowing this place?  I'd say anything goes."  He took a long drag of his cigarette.  "Are you that serious about her?  You'd be willin' to give up what you got here just to be with her?"

"Didn't you?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Well, Willow said how you and Buffy used to be enemies and all, and now you two are together.  Didn't you give up stuff so that could happen?"

"Not as much as you might think."  Gino didn't know the whole story about the chip, but for some reason, Spike didn't think that now was the best time to go into that.

"But you would, right?" the dark-haired bouncer persisted.

"Goes without sayin'."

"I think Willow and I are good together."  His voice was low, but firm.  "I think she knows that, too.  I just don't want to lose it."

"So, you do what you gotta do.  It might not be pretty, and it might hurt like hell, but if you love her, you do what you can to make it happen.  Unless, of course, it hurts Willow, in which case I'll probably have to stand in line behind Buffy to kick your ass."  He said this last with a grin, letting the other man know he was only half-serious, but allowing the threat underneath to poke its head through.

Gino smiled.  "You know, I gotta admit, I'd really love to see Buffy try.  I just don't get how a dame as little as her could do it."        

"Just say the word, pal.  'Cause I'll tell you right now, it'd be one of your shortest fights in history."

*************

As the flashes went off up on the bandstand, Buffy tilted her head, watching the display with amusement.  "You know," she said, her feet dangling from the bar stool, "I think Giles is enjoying this just a little too much."

Willow nodded.  "Methinks the movie star routine is starting to go to his head," she replied.  "Betcha he does that thing with his glasses again."

The girls watched as the photographer stepped away from the Watcher, framing his shot in order to accommodate him full-frame.  When the Englishman placed the earpiece of his spectacles between his teeth, ducking his head in order to gaze at the camera through his lashes, the giggles bubbled forth, only to be quietened when the two friends quickly stuck the straws from their drinks into their mouths.

"Spike's going to kill us for taking so long," Buffy commented between sips.

"It's not our fault.  It's Giles'.  He can kill Giles."

The blonde looked at her friend in mock-horror.  "Spike, kill, and Giles in the same sentence?  I think it's time to cut you off."  She went to take away the other's drink, and giggled again when Willow held it out of her reach.

"I just wish he'd hurry it up.  I'm missing quality cuddle time with Gino."

Here it was, the opening Buffy'd been hoping for all night.  Time for girl talk, she thought.  Let's hope I don't blow it.  "He seems like he's coping OK with everything," she said nonchalantly.  "I haven't seen any major wiggins yet, at least."

"He was a little freaked," the redhead admitted.  "But we talked after everyone left this afternoon.  I think he's doing better now."

"Just…talked?"

Willow blushed.  "That's none of your business, missy.  Besides, your walls aren't exactly soundproof, you know.  Don't tell me you were only talking with Spike when you got back."

"We did talk.  Some."

"So did we.  Some."

"And the other some…was it…worth it?"

"Well, let's put it this way," Willow said, her lips curled into a mischievous smile.  "Everything about Gino is very much in proportion., so yes.  Very much worth it."

It only took a fraction of a second for Buffy to realize what her friend was saying.  Her hazel eyes widened.  "God, Will, if I didn't know you better, I'd say it was just about the sex."

The other girl's grin faded.  "You don't know how much I wish it was."  She sighed.  "Why isn't it possible to go out and do a special order on who you fall in love with?  Be able to say, I'd like a boyfriend value meal, extra-tall, extra-sweet, oh and by the way, hold the alternate dimension travel issue, please."

"You're asking me?  The girl who has managed to fall in love with her _second vampire?"_

"At least you get to take your guy home with you."  Willow swivelled on her stool and pulled her straw from her empty glass, using the tip to doodle imaginary pictures on the bar countertop.  "Part of why I let this afternoon happen was because I figured that was it.  We're going home very soon here, and I'm never going to see Gino again, so why not just have this one time?  Except now that I've had it, I wonder if I haven't just made things worse for me."

Buffy turned to face the same direction as her friend.  "If it makes you feel any better, Spike thinks you did the right thing."

Willow snorted.  "Spike also thought it was the right thing to kidnap you for a weekend," she commented.

Buffy frowned.  "What?  What're you talking about?"

"Remember when you walked in on me and Spike talking in the living room?  The day after the strip poker thing?"  She waited for the blonde to nod.  "It started out just talking about me and Gino, and you and him.  Which, let me tell you, was oddly reminiscent of when he kidnapped me last year to do that love spell for him, except this time he was all happy Spike and not sad and weepy Spike.  Anyway, I said something about how you two being alone and separated from the Hellmouth and Slayer stuff seemed to open up this door for this to happen, you know, the falling in love thing, but now that I was around, maybe things would be different again.  Well, that just set him off.  Five minutes of bloody this and bleeding that, and saying how none of us would ever let you have what you really wanted, and did you ever realize how long Spike can talk without stopping?  It must be the non-breathing thing because he just kept going on and on.  It was making me dizzy so I just said, well, maybe you should make sure you two get enough alone time so that things _don't change.  Which for some reason he thought was the jim-dandiest idea and next thing I know, he's convincing me to cover for you at the club so that he can whisk you away for the weekend."_

So that's what that had been all about, Buffy thought.  Not anything devious or dire, just Spike wanting to have quality alone time with me and using Willow as a means to do it.  For some reason, she found herself regretting that they weren't going to get the opportunity to follow through on it; certainly, those first few days when it had been just the two of them, there had been a certain magic about it, with Spike letting down his guard and just being himself minus the combative attitude, and the dancing, and the laughter…

She felt her cheeks warm at the memory, followed quickly by the hastening of her heartbeat.  Maybe they would have just a few more hours before having to go take care of Mack.  Maybe she and Spike could have one more dance…

"I know you're thinking about him," Willow accused good-naturedly.  

Buffy blushed.  "I'm sorry.  This is supposed to be about you and Gino."

"No, it's really OK.  You two are just as new as we are.  Plus, you've got your own problems to deal with.  You do realize that Giles and Xander want to kill Spike, don't you?"

"I'd have to be blind to miss it."

"And you're going to have to deal with Riley when we get back---."

The Slayer's eyes widened, her jaw dropping.  "Oh.  My.  God," she said.  "Do you know that until you just now mentioned him, I haven't given Riley one thought since I got here?"

"You've been a little distracted."

No, I've been a lot distracted, Buffy thought.  Out loud, she replied, "He's going to think I'm some total nutcase.  First I tell him I'm engaged to a guy named Spike.  Then I turn around and tell him it was just a joke.  Now, I'm going to have to do another one-eighty and say, you know that joke thing?  It wasn't really, 'cause this time I'm actually married to the guy."  She frowned.  "Except I won't be when I get back.  Just here.  God, I'm going to be glad to get home.  No more headaches trying to keep it all straight."

Willow was pensive, her green eyes on the countertop.  "Do you think the painting in Mack's penthouse is the way home?" she asked.

"Could be.  Seems like too much of a coincidence for it not to be."  Buffy glanced at her friend out of the corner of her eye.  "Why are you asking?"

"I know it's reaching for straws, but I was just wondering what would happen if Gino tried coming back with us, you know, by touching it.  If it would even work for him, and if it did, would he be in the same position in Sunnydale that we are here.  Life-threatening, and all."  Her eyes were glistening when she looked up at Buffy.  "I know you think I'm whacked about this, letting myself get into this mess so soon after Oz.  I've been thinking the same thing.  But I'm here now, and I just want to get out of it with as few scars to my psyche as I can manage."

"Have you talked to Gino about it?"

"A little, but not in so many words.  I don't want anyone to get their hopes up, me most of all."

Reaching up, the blonde wrapped her arms around her best friend, giving her a long and overdue hug.  "Whatever happens, I'll be right here for you, 'kay?"

"Yeah."  Willow smiled as the two broke apart.  "I think this definitely qualifies as a Dionne Warwick moment."

*************

She lay trapped under the weight of his arm, staring up at the ceiling as his breathing settled into a light snore.  It's about friggin' time, Anya thought irritably.  The man has more energy than Willow on caffeine.  

And it wasn't as if the energy had been put to good use.  For the past three hours, she had sat here on the bed, listening to him talk on and on and on about Buffy, and Buffy's hair, and Buffy's smell, and Buffy's dancing, and everything else that was made up of Buffy, until she wanted to pull her hair out and scream, Get over it already!  It was worse than it had been listening to Willow go on about Oz.  And then, to top it all off, he'd just climbed into bed, curled up against her and fallen asleep.  No sex.  No touching.  Nothing.  She was just a pillow with ears to him.

She hadn't even had the chance to look for the mark yet, either.  After speaking with Xander, Mack had slipped into the adjoining room to change into silk pyjamas, which she thought looked absolutely ridiculous on his small frame, and until he'd crawled onto the bed, had been so far from her that she couldn't even discreetly play with his clothing in an attempt to see what was underneath.  Now, of course, was another matter.  As long as she was careful, she should be able to look at him close enough to find out the truth.

She started with his arms, peeking up the voluminous sleeves to see the finely muscled limbs staring back at her with nary a mark, not even a freckle.  He's almost as pale as Spike, Anya thought.  Maybe he's actually a vampire and not human after all.  Except she knew that wasn't true, because vampires didn't snore, did they?  Didn't that require breathing?  And she was getting off the matter at hand.  Get it together, girl, she admonished silently.  Find the mark.

It wasn't on his chest or feet, either, and Anya sat back on her heels, wondering how she was going to get a look at his back and legs without waking him up.  Or, I could wake him up, strip him for sex, and use that as an excuse to see him naked, she mused.  Kill two birds with one stone there.  

As she watched, Mack groaned in his sleep, rolling away from her and onto his side, as if answering her unheard prayer for ease.  OK, she thought.  Something's finally going my way.

It only took a moment after that.  Lifting the back of his pyjama shirt, she was about to lower her head to look up the fabric when the familiar sight of H'roven's signature blazed before her.  It lay nestled in the curve of Mack's lower back, a scarlet shape about the size of a half-dollar, resembling more than anything a long-forgotten birthmark.  

Jackpot, she thought.  We're going home…

To be continued in Chapter 34:  Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition…


	34. Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Anya has found the mark on Mack, confirming his identity as the safety…

*************

They were halfway out the door when Sammy came running after them.  "Mr. Giles!" he called, his breathing ragged.  "Mr. Giles!"

The trio stopped, all turning to see him approach, the Watcher frowning.  "Yes?" he queried.

"Telephone," Sammy rasped.  "Guy says it's important."

The frivolity was sucked from the air as Buffy and Willow exchanged glances, hanging back as Giles followed the shorter man up to the bar and the spare phone.  There was only one person who could be on the other end of that line, and though they had been expecting the call all night, it still managed to hit both of them hard.

For Buffy, it meant getting back to being the Slayer, and doing what she had to do to save the world, or in this case, to get out of it.  If Mack was indeed the safety, that meant he had to be killed, which meant ethical dilemma for the Chosen One.  Even though he wasn't part of her dimension, and even though he was basically not a very nice guy, Mack was still human, and the prospect of having to kill him was not something she was looking forward to dealing with.  It had only been last year that Faith had killed the deputy mayor, and the repercussions of that one deed had blackened everything for the next six months.  How could Buffy escape the same fate?

The call was something else entirely for Willow, a death knell for her time with Gino, a return to an empty existence without someone to share it with.  All her efforts to keep it separated, using her head instead of her heart, had been for naught, because here she was, the ache inside resonating throughout her body, obliterating the lines of demarcation she'd fought so desperately to construct between the bliss of being with the dark-haired bouncer and the reality of leaving him behind.  She knew only one thing.  Oz leaving her had been difficult; deserting Gino was going to be impossible.

Giles' face was somber as he returned to the two girls and before they could say anything, he nodded.  "Xander and Anya are waiting for us," he said quietly.

*************

He was pacing in front of the door to the penthouse when they arrived, brown hair dishevelled, his jacket long ago discarded.  Gino's eyes narrowed when he saw the gun strapped under Harris' arm, his grip automatically tightening around Willow's hand.  It was only when she looked up at him, green eyes dark with confusion, did the bouncer consciously relax his grasp.  Not a threat, he reminded himself.  She said they're old friends and would never do anything to hurt her.

Still, shutting off the feelings was like trying to swallow a handful of pills when his throat wasn't working.  He didn't like Xander and he couldn't look at the other man without feeling rage at the act he knew logically the other man never committed.  Willow had told him about what he and Spike had done to Marty, but that didn't change how he felt.  He didn't know if anything ever could.

"Where's Anya?" asked Buffy as they approached.

"Inside in case Mack wakes up."  Xander's eyes flickered over the gang, pausing momentarily on Gino before returning back to the Slayer.  "She says the mark's on his back and it looks exactly like the demon painter's signature, so we know for sure he's the one."

"Right.  Then let's suit up."  With a deep breath, she grabbed a hold of the door knob and twisted, ready to go in and do what had to be done.

"Wait."  Giles' voice acted more of a deterrent than a physical touch, and Buffy stayed her motion, looking back over her shoulder at her Watcher.  "What exactly are you planning on doing?" he queried.

"Thought that was obvious," she replied.  "I have to kill Mack."

"But he's human, Buffy."

"_And he's our ticket out of this place."  Her hand fell from the door and her head tilted as she regarded the older man.  "You really think now is the time to be arguing about this?"_

"Well, you refused to discuss it in the car---."

"Because I know what I have to do," she interrupted.  "I don't like it any more than you do, but I don't think I really have much of an option here."

"There are always options---."

"Lemme do it."

Buffy jerked at the sound of Spike's voice, her jaw setting.  "No," she said firmly.  "You're not going anywhere near him."

"Why not?"  The vampire strode forward to square off with the petite blonde.  "Wanker's from this dimension so the soddin' chip won't go off.  And, in case you've forgotten, I don't have the same bleedin' morality issues you've got.  If he needs to be killed, I can do it."

"We had rules, Spike, remember?  And I believe 'no killing' was right there at the top of them."  Her face was flushed in anger.  Why were they arguing with her on this?

"Buffy's right."  Giles stepped forward, joining the fray.  "If anyone should kill Mack, it should be me.  I'll shoulder the responsibility."

"What?"  Her voice was incredulous.  This was going from bad to much, much worse.  "No offense, Giles, but this is my job.  Chosen One here, and why is everyone trying to keep from doing what I have to do?"

"Being the Slayer doesn't mean killing humans."

"Rupert's got a point---."

"Stay out of it, Spike!"

The door yanked open to reveal an angry Anya on the other side.  "What the hell is going on out here?" she demanded.  

"Slayer and her Watcher are havin' a bit of a spat," Spike commented dryly.

"Now?"  Anya stared at them, wide-eyed.  "I've got a guy in here, waiting to be dead.  You don't think this could maybe wait a bit?  Like, _after we get home?"_

Buffy turned back to Giles.  "You don't even have a weapon---."

"I've got my gun," Xander offered, pulling it from its holster.

Gino automatically stepped in front of Willow, blocking the path between her and the revolver, while Buffy turned amazed eyes to her friend.  "Not helping things, Xander," she warned.

"Look, this should be a doddle, Slayer.  Rupes will find some way to cock it up and there's absolutely no reason for you to do it if you've got me to watch your back.  I'm the best choice here."

Giles' voice was deadly.  "You're _never the best choice, Spike," he spat._

"And you are?" Buffy countered.  "When was the last time you shot a gun, Giles?"

"I'm well-trained in all manners of weaponry---."

"I'm not talking training, I'm talking field experience."  Her hazel eyes flashed.  "This shouldn't even be a debate here."

As they fought in front of her, Anya's head kept swivelling back and forth between the gang members, marvelling at how ridiculous they were being, turning what was really an easy solution into some huge moral dilemma.  Got a gun, use it, she thought angrily.  What's so hard?  But their voices were rising, and though she knew there was no way he could hear anything all the way back in the bedroom, Anya was starting to worry about how long it was taking them to make up their minds.  Anything could happen; hadn't they learned at least that much by being here?

"Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," she muttered, and stepping forward, twisted the gun from Xander's hand, pivoting on her heel and marching back into the apartment, shutting the door behind her.

The hall was quiet for a moment while everyone just looked at the closed door.  "She's not---," Gino started, only to silence himself when the gang sprang into action and launched themselves inside.

"Crap," he heard Harris mutter, right before the other man disappeared inside the penthouse.

*************

She had the pistol cocked and ready before she reached the bedroom, and slipped through the doorway, taking heed not to make any unnecessary noise as she did so.  On the bed, Mack still lay in repose, his head turned away from her.  Want a job done, she thought, gotta do it yourself.  Although it had been a while since she'd had to kill anyone---OK, she hadn't really done it since being stripped of her vengeance gig---not having to look him in the face while she did it definitely made the job all that much easier.  

Carefully, Anya raised the gun.

*************

Buffy and Spike were only seconds behind her, skittering to a halt in the doorframe so that they didn't wake the sleeping owner of the club.  Not that a gunshot won't do the exact same thing, the Slayer thought wryly, and was about to rush the armed woman when…

…the bolt of electricity shot through the air, striking Anya in the chest, sending her hurtling backwards against the overstuffed chair behind her.

Buffy hurried forward, scooping the unconscious girl into her arms and picking up the gun from the floor, then turned her confused gaze back at Spike.  "What the hell was that?" she hissed.

His jaw was set, muscles twitching as his brain clicked over.  The bolt had come directly from Mack, but still he slept, oblivious to the growing number of people in his bedroom.  "I'm about to find out," he replied, his voice barely audible.  As the Slayer watched, his face melted away into his vampire visage, his teeth bared in a silent snarl, hands already curled into claws as his body tightened to spring…

…and a second bolt, this one just as focussed as the first, slammed into him, forcing him to stumble back and into the chest of an approaching Xander.  Both men went down in a heap outside the room, and with one last frowning glance at Mack's unconscious form, Buffy followed after them.

*************

The first hit Willow as a sudden shock, electrifying her skin with icicles of flame that caused her to stiffen, the tiny hairs on her arms standing up on end, autonomous responses jerking her hand away from Gino's.  His black eyes widened as the magic leapt the distance between them, numbing his fingers but not stopping him from catching her from falling, her thin form arcing against his.

The second, only moments later, was just as strong, and the whimper escaped the redhead's throat as her body spasmed, pressing into Gino's for what seemed an eternity.  Although it passed within the blink of an eye, the subjection it left behind forced her to cling to the bouncer for support, and that's how she was standing when the group came back from the bedroom.

"Xander's.  Now," ordered Buffy, sweeping past them, the unconscious Anya still in her arms.  

*************

The disquiet hung in the air like a vaporous blur, while Giles pressed the wet cloth to the burn mark on Anya's chest, its lukewarm relief doing nothing to quicken her from her sleeping state.  Behind the couch, Xander paced like a caged animal, brown eyes darting from his girlfriend to Buffy, and back to the couch again.

"What the hell happened in there?" he demanded.

"That's what I'd like to know," she muttered, careful with her own ministrations to the corresponding burn on Spike's pale skin.  

The vampire's sapphire gaze swept past the Slayer, boring into Willow's ashen face.  Her breathing was shallow, her pupils so dilated that her normally bright eyes appeared black, and she curled herself up into a tight little ball on Gino's lap.  "Welcome to the Titanic, Red," Spike growled.

Buffy's head whipped around, drinking in the sight of her friend.  Something was wrong; something had shaken her, and it seemed at the moment that only the dark bouncer's embrace was holding her together.  "Willow?" she asked.  "What's wrong?"

"What…was it?" the redhead whispered.

"Magic.  Had to have been," the Slayer replied.  "As soon as Mack was attacked.  First by Anya when she pointed the gun at him, and then when Spike charged him in game face."

"A protection spell, perhaps?" Giles offered.  "But who...?"  His eyes cleared, as he answered his own question.  "Tony."

At the sound of the musician's name, Willow's eyes fluttered shut.  "No…"

Spike sat up, pushing away Buffy's hands, oblivious to the burn on his chest.  "No more twenty questions," he said.  "Either you tell 'em or---."

"It _is a protection spell."  Her voice was tiny, forced from her throat with all the reluctance of a sulky child, but her face was shattered, a despondent mask of crystal threatening to fall apart before their eyes.  The tears welled, unshed, and she ducked her head to avoid looking at them.  "But I didn't know what it was going to do, I swear."_

"Willow…what did you do?"  Buffy was almost holding her breath, the realization that her best friend was somehow involved in this something she'd never even considered.

"I couldn't do the spell by myself," the redhead started.  

For the first time, Gino reacted to those words around him, frowning as his black eyes danced over her face.  "Wait a minute," he said.  "Not…the magic you did for me?"

She nodded.  "I didn't know who else to ask.  And when he said he would only do it if I helped him…"  Willow swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.  "I said no the first time.  And then the hospital called, and the nurse was all, get down here while you can say good-bye, and I didn't know what else to do.  He said the protection spell was for him."

"And you believed him?"  Giles couldn't keep the incredulity out of his voice.  "After everything we told you?"

"I didn't have a choice!"  The dam broke, and the tears flowed freely over her cheeks.  "I'm sorry!  You don't think I feel bad enough about this already?  Even when Spike started in on me---."

Buffy's head whipped around to face her boyfriend.  "You knew?" she accused.

"Yeah, and I went chargin' up to Mack 'cause I fancied a little color in my skin," Spike snarked, rolling his eyes.  "I just found out tonight.  And Red swore up and down it was perfectly harmless, so don't go high and mighty on me, Buffy.  I'm not in the mood."

A groan from the couch captured everyone's attention, and Xander practically leapt over the back of it to crouch down at Anya's side.  Her eyes fluttered open, and for a brief moment, her face relaxed into a small smile.  "Hey," she murmured, but when she tried to sit up, the pain in her chest sent rolls of knives marching down her torso, and she sank back down into the cushions.  

"Take it easy," Xander soothed.  "You took a nasty shock."

Anya frowned.  "It didn't work, did it?" she asked.  When her boyfriend shook his head, she let her eyes flutter closed again.  "This world sucks."

"And I'm beginning to agree with her," Buffy muttered, rising from her seat to take Xander's place in pacing the room.  "So we got trouble with a capital T now.  We can't kill Mack while he's got the spell on him, so we've got to figure out how to get rid of it."

"Was there a charm or amulet in the spell you did?" Giles asked Willow.

She shook her head.  "It just seemed like your run-of-the-mill protection spell," she said weakly.

"How 'bout we kill bugle boy?" Spike offered with an angry smile, ignoring the Watcher's dirty look.  "Wouldn't that cancel it?"

"Even if it did, it wouldn't work," Willow replied.  "'Cause you'd have to kill me, too.  I'm just as responsible for it as he is."

Very slowly, Xander raised his hand.  "Hate to be adding fuel to the fire here," he said, once he had everyone's attention.  "But we got a time limit we're working under now."

"Yeah, yeah," Buffy said, dismissing his comment with a wave of her hand.  "The get-what-you-want-then-die clause."

"No," he replied.  "I'm talking about the Mack-ordering-me-to-kill-you-and-Spike clause."

The vampire snorted.  "Knew his white flag routine was too good to be true."

"Mack told you to kill us?"  In spite of her disgust for the club owner, the Slayer had begun to believe that his feelings for her were genuine, so knowing that he would want her dead came out of nowhere for her.  "Both of us?" she repeated.

Xander nodded.  "He was very clear on that."

"Did he say when?"

"As soon as possible."

Her head was swimming.  Too much information, too little time, too few answers.  It was supposed to have been so easy.  She almost laughed.  Since when is it _ever easy? she silently questioned.  _

"It's obvious we're not going to get anything accomplished tonight," Giles said, his voice calm, detached.  "I suggest we all go home, get a good night's sleep, and reconvene at Buffy's in the morning to discuss tactics."

"Sleep.  Sleep is good," Anya muttered from the couch.

"Yes," Buffy agreed.  "I like that plan.  Let's go with that."

Slowly, Willow rose to her feet, clinging to Gino as she held back, unable to meet the eyes of her friends.  This was all her fault.  If she hadn't helped Tony, Mack would be dead right now and they'd be on their way home.  Of course, that would mean that Gino would also be dead…

When she shuddered, Gino tightened his grip around her shoulders, the guilt for putting his friends into this position spiralling his heart into isolation.  Stupid gunshot, he thought angrily as they walked to the door.  If it wasn't for that, Willow and the others would be safe now.  

If blame could be weighed, the heaviest burden would've fallen on Buffy's head, as she deliberately distanced herself from the others, staring straight ahead of her as she walked down the hall.  Couldn't keep yourself from touching it, she scolded.  Just had to get yourself into this mess.  And now your friends and the man you love are going to die for it.  Good job, Slayer…

To be continued in Chapter 35: Now I Lay Me Down to Dream…


	35. Now I Lay Me Down to Dream

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  The gang has learned that Tony's spell was actually a protection spell for Mack, preventing anyone from harming him…

*************

The car had been silent the entire journey back to the apartment, the air heavy with unspoken accusations.  Even when Gino killed the engine, no one spoke, climbing out of their seats in a somber parade, shoulders hunched, hands buried deep in pockets, energy flagged.  Gone was the joy from the afternoon, and in its place lay guilt, a leaden blanket that threatened to suffocate them.

Automatically, Spike held the door open for the two young women as they entered the building, then looked quizzically back where Gino lingered by the car.  "You comin'?" he asked.

The dark-haired bouncer shook his head.  "I think I'm going to take a walk," he replied, his voice low.

Willow stopped, turning around to look back at Gino, a small frown between her brows.  "Are you feeling OK?" she asked, taking a step toward him.

He shrugged.  "Just…need to think."

The redhead returned to the cool night air, pulling her coat closer around her, nodding toward the pair who still stood in the doorway.  Glancing quickly at Gino, and then to each other, Buffy threw her friend a small smile and disappeared into the foyer, followed almost immediately by a reluctant Spike.

His eyes were ebony marbles, shadowed in the dim streetlight, lids low as he stared at the ground.  As Willow watched, he took a step away from her to sit heavily against the hood of the car, one meaty hand rubbing tiredly at his face.  "You oughta be inside," Gino said quietly.

"So should you," she countered.  "You just got out of the hospital this morning.  You need your rest."

"Thought your magic took care of that," he replied, and there was no mistaking the harshness in his voice, the shards of uncertainty cutting through it with finely honed blades.

"You said you were OK with…the spell thing."  The sudden fear leapt into her throat, and the realization that she might have tread too far loomed all too closely in front of her.

"I was, until I found out what it cost everyone."  There was no mistaking the anger in his gaze as his glittering eyes locked with hers.  "What the hell were you thinking, Willow?  How could you do that to your friends?"

"How many times am I going to have to say I'm sorry?" she shot back.  

"Sorry doesn't get you home in one piece."

"Neither does being Mr. Mopey out on the street."

Gino ran his fingers through his hair.  "I'm not the one who has to worry about taking it on the heel and toe before death comes a-knocking," he said.  "You had a chance to get home tonight, and you messed it up, and now you've put you and Spike and Buffy and all the rest of your friends in a bigger jam than before, because how in hell are you ever going to be able to kill Mack now?  And all because of me?"  He shook his head.  "It don't add up, Willow.  No matter how many times you try to make it.  And if something happens to you now…"  His voice choked, and he rose from his perch, turning his back to her to lean heavily against the car, head low, thick hands supporting his weight.

She wanted to go up to him, to touch him, to let him know that he didn't have to feel that way, but her feet were bolted to the ground, locked in the cement of her own guilt, and all Willow could manage was, "Nothing's going to happen.  I'm going to fix this."

"Like you fixed me?" he muttered bitterly.

"No, I mean it.  I've got an idea.  Tony likes me, I think, and---."  She flinched as Gino's fist slammed into the roof of the car, the resounding metallic crunch echoing down the empty street.  

"Goddamit, Willow!"  When he turned to face her, the redhead realized it was the angriest she'd ever seen him, angrier even than when he'd walked in on Marty's assault, and the knowledge that it was somehow directed at her---was _because of her---was frightening.  "How can someone so smart be so dumb?" he demanded.  "You're not going anywhere near Tony.  Not while I'm breathing.  And definitely not while he can do the kind of magic that would protect Mack the way it does."_

"That's half my spell, too, you know!"  Her own guilt was starting to burn into anger, as Gino's over-protective streak began to shine through.  "And I took care of myself just fine before you came along.  Going Neanderthal on me now is not going to make things better!"

His hands balled into fists at his side.  More than anything, he wanted to hit something, feel something give beneath his power, vent some of the adrenalin that was coursing through his veins.  What he wouldn't do to have that musician standing in front of him right then.  He didn't understand why she was being so stubborn about this, why she was refusing to see just how negligent she'd been in putting him above everyone else…and it was frustrating the hell out of him.  "I'm only trying to protect you," he said through gritted teeth.  "Every minute you spend here, odds get worse that something's going to happen to you.  And when you turn around and do something as stupid as hook up with that Tony, what do you expect me to say?"

"A little gratitude would be nice---."

"We've been over this.  Why aren't you hearing me?"  The flush in Gino's cheeks was apparent, even in the dim night.  "Nobody's ever meant more to me than you do, and you know you only have to say the word and I'll do it for you.  But asking me to say it's jake to be the one responsible for keeping you here, for putting you in even more danger, isn't fair."

"You're not responsible for anything," Willow argued.  "This is all me.  My fault.  My bad.  I was the one who did the spell, not you."  She watched as he turned away, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets as he began walking down the street.  He was leaving?  After everything, he was just going away?  Without thinking, the redhead rushed forward, grabbing his arm, scurrying around to stand in front of him.  "What are you doing?"

"I told you.  Going for a walk."

"But now?  We're talking here."

"No, we're not.  We're fighting."

"Even more of a reason not to just walk away."

Gino sighed.  "I'm not…thinking straight right now," he said.  The heat was gone from his voice, replaced by an exhaustion Willow recognized all too well.  "Everything that's happened today…it's done a real number on my head."  He pulled his hand out of his pocket, the fist gone, and gently cupped her face.  "You're the smart one, remember?  You gotta give me some time to sort this out.  I've got all these feelings stuck inside me, and outside of the one that's telling me how much I love you, none of it makes any sense.  And I hate that.  I hate not knowing."

She swallowed, feeling the words choke in her throat.  "Where are you going?" she finally managed.

"Anywhere.  Everywhere.  I just need to be moving.  My brain seems to work better that way."  The corner of his mouth lifted slightly as his black eyes softened, gazing down at her pale face.  "I'm coming back, if that's what you're worried about."  
"I wasn't…"  Willow blushed.  "OK, yeah.  But can you blame me?  Me and fighting don't mix well.  And I think this is our first really big one, right?"

"Go sleep," he said quietly, his hand returning to the warmth of his pocket.  "We got our work cut out for us tomorrow."

The young witch bit her lip as Gino turned and resumed his journey down the sidewalk, broad shoulders hunched under the taut coat that hung over them.  She didn't feel like sleeping; she felt like running after him, finishing what they had started, but she knew she wouldn't.  The man who never asked for anything had requested just a little bit of time to try and come to grips with an intense past twenty-four hours; there was no way she could deny him that, not after everything, not after seeing the crippling throes in those black eyes.  

Pulling her jacket tight around her shivering arms, Willow shuffled back to the front door of the apartment building, knowing that it wasn't the chill in the air that was causing her tremors.

*************

Watching her, even when she was in this mood, was like feeling twenty-five year-old whiskey sliding down his throat…fire etching its way through his veins…that slight sense of giddiness swimming inside his head, making the colors before him dance in vibrant gaiety…the smoky tang that sent sweltering fingers over each knob of his spine.  She was grace, she was music, she was…

…pissed off as hell.

Spike's head tilted as she stepped out of her dress, kicking it across the room so that it slammed into the opposite wall, hooking on the manacles to hang there like some eerie wraith.  "You goin' to tell me what's wrong?" he chuckled.  "Or do I just get to enjoy the show?"

"What's wrong?" she repeated.  "If you have to ask, it's even pointless for me to say anything."  Her nails clawed at her hose, stripping one leg in a ragged tune.

"Not a mind reader, Buffy," he said.  "Much as it may look otherwise sometimes.  Now, are you goin' to tell me?  Or are you goin' to make me guess?  'Cause I'm thinkin', my guesses might just piss you off more."

"I'm fine," she grumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed in her underwear as she struggled with the remaining stocking.  "I'm tired.  I just want to sleep."

Three fluid steps took him to her side, and Spike sat down next to her, brushing the hair away from her shoulder to expose her neck to him, his thumb skating over the matching pair of scarlet pinpricks that lay there.  Her shiver was almost automatic, and Buffy's eyes fluttered briefly before she took a deep breath to steady herself.

"Wasn't twelve hours ago you trusted me enough to let me do this," the vampire murmured, sapphire eyes locked on the visible pounding of her pulse through her skin.  "Now all of a sudden, you don't trust me enough to tell me what's botherin' you?"

It took all her willpower to leap from her seat, her breath ragged.  "Don't you dare be talking about trust," she said, putting as much distance between them as possible.  She couldn't let him touch her, not when every velvet stroke sent her system into overload, not when more than anything, she needed to think clearly, to sort out this mess she had created.  "Who was the one keeping Will's secret, huh?  You didn't trust me enough to tell me that."

"What, you wanted me to come and pull you off the floor as soon as I found out?"  Spike frowned.  "Sorry, but I'm not bein' your whippin' boy on this one, Buffy.  I didn't do anythin' wrong.  Red's the one you're brassed off with.  And for what?  'Cause she was so gutted about losing Gino, she made a piss-poor decision to get involved with bugle boy?  Hate to break it to you, but I don't know if I wouldn't have done the exact same thing if I was in her shoes."

"So now you're condoning her behavior?"  Her hazel eyes were incredulous.

"No," he growled.  "I'm sayin' if you were dyin' and I had a way of stoppin' it, I'd probably make a deal with the devil himself if I thought it would keep you breathin'."  Rising, he took a step toward her, stopping when she countered him by backing up against the wall.  "Don't try sayin' this is about me.  Not after everything we've been through to get to this point."

Buffy's pacing resumed, skirting the edges of the room, the feelings of blame crawling over her skin like a swarm of locusts.  "You'd never understand," she said.  "You don't know what it's like, being me, doing what I have to do.  You wouldn't get it."

Spike's teeth clicked as he fought to control his temper.  "Especially if you don't give me a chance," he argued.  "It must get awful lonely in that gorgeous head of yours, Slayer.  Maybe if you'd stop thinkin' you're the Lone Ranger, you could open the door a crack and let someone else in.  Maybe carry some of the Chosen's load.  I just hope you do it before we all end up gettin' killed."  Grabbing a pillow from the bed, the vampire marched to the door, yanking it open.  "You feel like talkin', you know where I'll be."

The slam echoed through the room, and all of a sudden, Buffy felt incredibly small, shrinking within her skin as the silence surrounded her.  What happened to never leaving? she thought wildly.  How could he just walk out like that?

Because you shut him out, the little voice said, and there was no mistaking the sadness in its tone.  He's only on the other side of the door; all it will take is opening it, asking him back in, telling him how this is all your fault.  He'll understand.  He always understands.

But she couldn't.  Sleep.  Sleep was what she needed.  Not blue eyes staring at her as she struggled to find the words.  Not porcelain muscles holding her, keeping the fears at bay.  Not Spike.

Sleep.

*************

The blindfold dangled from his elegant fingers, grey eyes dark as he surveyed Buffy from across the empty room.  "You're not scared of me, are you?" Mack asked, the chuckle in his voice unmistakeable.  "Big Vampire Slayer like you.  I'm not even a demon.  Just a man.  Certainly not someone you should be frightened of."

"I'm not," she replied, and stepped forward to yank the black velvet from his hand.  

"Just think of it as a…training exercise," he said.  "Turn around."

Her body obeyed him in spite of her determination not to, and she felt the soft fabric slide over her face, blocking out the light, swallowing her in darkness as it tightened around her golden curls.  She felt his hands slide down to her shoulders, gently massaging them, sending shivers of disgust rippling across her skin.  

"So beautiful," she heard him murmur.  "My little killing machine."

It took her a moment to discern what it was he pressed into the palm of her hand, but the familiar texture of the wood, the small jagged splinters cutting into her flesh, brought back flashes of malodorous decay, the aromas of festering death so prevalent in Sunnydale's cemeteries, creating a cacophony of horror and relief within her chest.  Yes, she missed patrolling, missed the reverberations of her stake crushing through bone, but here…there were no vampires within the painting.  Why should she need the weapon of a slayer?

"Find the demon," Mack urged, his voice an oily whisper in her ear.  "_Kill the demon."_

And it was as if her body had a mind of its own, stepping forward to prowl the space, her senses alerting her to the presence of a vampire.  Somewhere…close…use my training…must slay…must kill…

Her arm tensed as the demon's presence made itself known.  There…off to her right…but it wasn't moving…though she could hear it…

"That's my girl," he coaxed from behind her.  "That's my Slayer."

Everything went into slow motion as Buffy thrust forward, her stake connecting with the cool flesh, plunging through the muscle, meeting no resistance as she felt her hand brushed against the demon's shirt.  The soft exhalation just before the dust exploded into her face seemed so familiar, as if she'd heard it somewhere before, as if…

…but what vampires lived in the painting world?  Only one…and she hadn't…she couldn't have…

Mack's laughter could barely contain its glee.  "Welcome home, Buffy..."

Her fingers tore at the blindfold, and her heart was racing as her eyes darted around, flickering over the dust on the floor before dropping to her knees, reaching out to touch it…

No…

…not Spike…

*************

She couldn't breathe, her eyes shooting open to stare up at the ceiling, her arm automatically reaching out to her side to search for the familiar sculpture of his flesh.

Nothing.

No impression on his pillow, no wrinkling of his sheets.

He'd never come back.

Throwing back the comforter, Buffy scrambled from the bed, choking on the sudden need to see Spike, to know that he was still in the apartment, the regret that she hadn't stopped him earlier overwhelming.  Stupid, stubborn Slayer, she admonished.  All he was trying to do was help…

As she pulled open the door, the image from her dream came flooding back, the smell of the vampire dust still clinging to her nostrils.  The prospect that it had been one of her prophetic dreams had already occurred to her, but she wasn't entertaining it, couldn't consider it, not if she was going to find the strength to get them out of this place.

Sometimes a dream was just a dream…

*************

He was exhausted, time having slipped away from him as he walked through the streets, too many thoughts, too many feelings, too much thinking.  With the sun beginning to caress the horizon, he still had no answers, still didn't know what was going to happen or where he and Willow were going to fit into the whole mess her magic had created, but he'd decided…that was inconsequential.  All that mattered was getting back to her, holding her, letting her know that he was going to be there, and most importantly…savoring what little time they probably had left together.

Gino winced as the door creaked upon opening, freezing for a moment before pushing it the rest of the way.  He didn't want to wake anyone; they certainly needed their sleep after the night they'd had.  When he saw the inert forms intertwined on the chair, he couldn't help the smile that came to his lips, creeping past them as silently as possible before disappearing himself into the bedroom.

When he heard the door close, Spike's lids lifted, and he rested his cheek on the top of her hair.  In the circle of his arms she slept, nerves finally calm, eyelashes tiny butterflies on his bare chest.  She hadn't said a word when she'd emerged, just curled up into him, pressed her lips gently against his before whispering, "Love you."

Seconds later, she'd been asleep.

Although no words had been said regarding Buffy's earlier mood, Spike wasn't worried, not now.  She had come to him; she had been the one to seek him out, so he knew they would talk…when it was time…

To be continued in Chapter 36: He Wears a Pair of Silver Wings…


	36. He Wears a Pair of Silver Wings

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  The Scoobies are forced to come up with a new plan, now that they've learned that Mack has a protection spell on him that prevents them from killing him, courtesy of Tony and Willow…

*************

"Remember how much Harris hated the plan yesterday?" Spike growled, knuckles white around the handle of his mug.  "Multiply that by a hundred and you won't even begin seein' how pissed off I am about _this one."_

"I think this one's a little different," Buffy argued from her perch near the window.

"Not by bloody much," the vampire muttered, and jumped to his feet to storm out into the kitchen.

She watched his back as he disappeared into the other room, the tension in his shoulders evident even under the loose shirt he wore.  Everyone's tempers were a little short this afternoon; not only had almost all of the gang slept through the entire morning, but they had all arrived at the apartment in varying degrees of grumpiness.  Surprisingly enough, the one who seemed least affected was Gino, though he was still nowhere near being the gregarious guy who'd played strip poker with a huge smile on his face just a few nights ago.  However, that didn't mean that he, too, wasn't feeling the consequences of the previous evening, and she was mindful to keep her tone neutral as she addressed the group.

"So that's the Mack problem taken care of, kind of," Buffy said, turning to face them.  "Now about Tony…"

Willow straightened in her seat on the floor.  "I've been thinking about that," she started.

Anya rolled her eyes.  "Oh, that's _just what we need," she commented dryly.  "Another of Willow's wonderful plans."  When the redhead turned her quizzical gaze toward her, the ex-demon went on.  "No offense, but you're the reason we're in this mess in the first place.   Well, second place, because we wouldn't even be here if Buffy hadn't touched the painting.  But that's beside the point.  We had our shot to get home last night and you blew it for us.  If it wasn't for you, we could all be in Sunnydale right now, tucked away in our beds, waiting for whatever Big Bad wants to poke its head out again and try and end the world this week."_

"Ahn---."  Xander's hand settled on his girlfriend's arm, his voice low, but she shook him off.

"Don't Ahn me.  I'm only saying what you all are too chicken-shit to say to her face.  Willow messed up, big time, and I for one am not happy about going along with any plan she comes up with."  She folded her arms across her chest, and glared at the group.

The young witch bit her lip.  "Look, I realize that, OK, getting Tony's help was probably not one of my most shiny moments, but---."

"Anya's right."

Her eyes were wide as Willow's head swivelled to stare at Buffy.  "What?" she said.

The Slayer's voice was steady, almost too calm, as she did her best not to hurt her friend even more.  "You're not in the best place right now for plan-making, Will," she explained.  "And we can't afford any more screw-ups."  It would be the closest she would be able to come to actually telling the other girl off; the knowledge that she'd made her own share of rash decisions was enough to curb her statements.  The fact remained, however, that the redhead's judgment wasn't currently top-notch, and no way could Buffy jeopardize the rest of the Scoobies in order to coddle her best friend.

"I'm tired of pussy-footing around the Tony issue," she continued.  "I've been way too nice to him just because he's from our world.  And I'm stopping it, as of today."

"Have you got a plan?" Giles queried.

"Yep.  It's called Beat the Crap out of the Bugle Boy Until He Reverses the Spell plan."

A huge smile lit up Anya's face.  "Oh!  I like that plan!"

Turning her head to face the kitchen, Buffy called out, "Spike!  Stop sulking and get your ass back in here!"

After a moment, the vampire appeared in the doorway but refused to come into the lounge, choosing instead to lean against the jamb, arms folded across his chest.  "Not sulkin'," he said.  "Just rinsin' out my mug."

"Uh huh, right."  The Slayer turned back to face the gang.  "Between what Giles saw and what Willow found out, we've got to assume that Tony's prepared for me trying to attack him.  Besides, I can't do anything about him because I've got to deal with Mack."  She ignored the snort of derision coming from the kitchen door and went on.  "So, for muscle, we'll send Spike---."

"Spike?" Giles interrupted.  "But he won't be of any use, not with his chip.  Tony's not from this dimension."

"I know, let me finish.  Spike's just going to be back-up.  I think for this case, we need to use someone our little trumpet player's not going to expect."  Buffy settled her gaze on Gino.  "I can't make you do this," she said to the dark-haired bouncer.  "And I know that our getting home is certainly not your problem---."

"You don't even have to ask," Gino said.  "Just point me in the right direction and tell me who to hit."

The Slayer grinned, in spite of herself.  Gotta love a man who can appreciate when it's time to fight, she thought.  He's a lot like Spike that way.  "Right.  Then it's settled.  Gino, Willow, and Spike will head over to Tony's---."

"Willow?"  This came from more than one mouth throughout the room, but each person's tone was the same.  Surprise with more than a little dismay.

"Willow," Buffy affirmed.  "She's got an in with Tony.  He'll open the door to her, more than he would to any of us.  It's the best way for Gino and Spike to get inside."

"So, all she has to do is knock?" Anya asked, glancing down at the redhead out of the corner of her eyes.

"Well, that, and she's there to help do the reverse of the spell, if Tony needs her," the Slayer said.  Her eyes scanned the room, absorbing the varying looks of concern, frustration, even anger among her friends.  Too bad, she thought grimly.  This is our best shot at getting home, and I'm tired of playing nice Buffy.  "Any other questions?"

*************

Gino frowned as he watched Spike begin stomping on the smoking blanket, extinguishing the flames that had erupted along the hem as he'd made the dash from the car to the apartment building.  It was the first obvious sign that he'd witnessed since finding out about the blond's true nature, and though he had been reluctant to believe that aspect of Willow's story, this strange occurrence seemed to support her testimony that his friend was actually a vampire.

"I'm almost of a mind to say bugger to the headache and let bugle boy just have it," Spike commented as he tossed the blanket into the corner.

"That would be the…chip, right?" Gino asked, uncertainty in his face.  "The one they put in your head?"

The vamp nodded.  "Bloody nuisance.  But, I s'pose it's responsible in a way for me and Buffy comin' together, so can't be all bad, I guess."

"Kinda like this painting you guys touched," the bouncer replied.  "Not the best thing to happen to you, but it did give me Willow, so I can't hate it too much."

As if on cue, the redhead appeared at the bottom of the stairwell.  "Are you two coming?" she asked, a slight edge of annoyance tingeing her voice.

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your knickers in a twist."

The trio marched up the stairs in silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts, all concentration on the task at hand.  When they reached Tony's door, the two men hung back, staying out of sight should it open, allowing Willow to face it alone.

Her rap seemed too loud for the bare hallway, echoing dully against the wood, but the silence that followed was even more deafening.  She found herself tapping her heel on the floor, the nervous energy contained within her body desperate for some sort of outlet, before raising her hand to knock again.

"Somethin' tells me the nest is empty," Spike commented.

"Where could he be?" asked Willow, glancing back at the two men.

There was a moment, and then Gino spoke up.  "Maybe rehearsal ran late," he said.  "Could be he's still at the club."

"Only one way to find out," the vampire said, turning on his heel to head for the stairs.  "C'mon, Red."

*************

He couldn't help the whistle under his breath as he packed his instrument, his fingers dancing lightly over the brass, giving it one final caress before snapping the lid shut.  Life was good.  OK, he still had the whole worry about dying going on, but so far, his spells were holding.  The amulet warned him when danger was approaching, the few bits of magic he always had on stand-by were working well enough to ward off the problems that had presented themselves, and his protection spell on the safety seemed to be doing exactly what he'd hoped.  Seeing Mack in the club last night, with so few visible signs of his fight with Spike, had been enough to confirm for Tony that the magic had actually worked.

Although he heard the voice in the background, it didn't register on his consciousness until Lombardi had come out to the front of the club, the girl trailing behind him.  Even then, it wasn't until she laughed that the musician glanced up, catching the sight of the petite brunette out of the corner of his eye, almost dismissing her until she turned halfway around, cold blue eyes scanning the band as they were filing off the stand.

He wanted to throw himself on the floor, do anything to get out of her line of sight, but settled instead on ducking his head, pretending to be busy with his case as he let himself get swallowed in the crowd.  Shit, shit, shit!  He should've known.  Things were going too good, too smoothly; it was time for his luck to finally run out.  One last glimpse over his shoulder as he hurried through the exit was all he allowed himself to confirm…no, she wasn't following him.

Just have to get home, Tony worried as he dashed for the back door of the club.  She can't get in unless I invite her, and then once morning comes, I'll get out of here for good.  I didn't go through all this just to have to go back to Melinda…

The thought trailed away as he froze, eyes locked on the door of his apartment building as it opened onto the street.  For a split second, he had been glad to see the redhead, but when he caught a flash of the platinum blond hair behind her as it ducked back into the shadows of the foyer, Tony realized that Willow had not come to see him alone.  Why would she come with Spike? he thought, and then his stomach lurched into his throat, the realization that she must've figured out exactly what his spell had done sending fingers of fear crawling over his skin.  

They were looking for him.  So desperate to get home, they must've tried killing Mack and discovered the extent of the protection he was under.  It had to be the only reason they would show up on his doorstep now.  Tony pressed himself into the brick wall of the club, his heart pounding, his trumpet forgotten in his hands.  Hello, rock, he thought.  Hello, hard place.  What the hell am I going to do now?

The answer came to him as he tossed a final glimpse around the corner of the building, watching as Willow disappeared into the front of the Sun.  Only one option now, if he wanted to steer clear of Melinda, _and avoid confrontation with Willow and Spike._

Run.

*************

"Well?" asked Anya as Xander rested the phone back onto its cradle.

"It sounded like he bought it," he said, brown eyes darting between the two women, his anxiety clearly etched between his brows.  "But, you know, I gotta be agreeing with Spike on this one.  This plan does not give me a happy feeling."

"It doesn't have to," Buffy replied.  "You're not the one walking into the lion's den."  She studied her reflection in the mirror on his apartment wall, rubbing at her eyes.  "Besides, I shouldn't have to do this for too long.  Not if Spike and Gino work their magic on Tony so that he'll do his…you know, magic."

"And you really think you can pull this off?  Do you _not remember the talent show?"_

"This is different.  This isn't like having to memorize lines.  This is more like pretending I'm sick on a school day so that I can ditch an algebra test, and trust me, I can do that."

"We're only concerned about your safety, Buffy."  Giles' voice was low, and though it sounded calm, the tired lines around his eyes belied otherwise.

"Trust me, she's got nothing to worry about," Anya said.  "There is no way that man is not going to be thrilled to pieces when she shows up."

"How can you be so certain?"

The ex-demon rolled her eyes.  "You didn't spend most of last night listening to him drone on and on about the glories of Buffy.  He doesn't want her dead.  He's just pissed she married Spike."

"Plus, this'll have me in striking distance when the spell gets reversed," the Slayer chimed in.  

"I'm still not happy about you killing him---."

Buffy held up her hand to silence her Watcher.  "We're not getting into this again, Giles.  The idea doesn't put me in happyland either, but there's no way anyone else can get close enough to do the job."

"Xander could---."

"Xander's not."  Her hazel eyes were steady as the group fell silent, and the young woman was glad that none of them could see how much of a tumult her stomach was in.  As much as she would never have admitted it to his face, she hated this plan as much as Spike did, the thought of Mack getting anywhere near her bringing her dream back to life all too vividly.  Although she was hardly convinced it had been in any way Slayer-related, there was no way Buffy was just going to dismiss it out-of-hand.  No, Spike's safety was paramount to her, as was all the gang's, and this plan was the best way to ensure that all of them stayed in one piece.  Even if she despised every minute of it.

*************

The drink lit him from within, an inferno in his gullet that brought a sense of peace to Mack that had seemed absent ever since he'd returned to town.  It wasn't just the alcohol, though, that brought a glow to those things surrounding him.  No, even inebriation couldn't make him feel this good.

He hadn't expected Xander's phone call quite so quickly.  Must remember to give that boy a raise, he thought, as he watched the flames flicker within the fireplace.  Above and beyond as usual.  He wasn't sure why he'd been surprised, but didn't question the dedication of his right-hand man.  He's just as driven by results as I am, Mack mused, lips twisted into some semblance of a smile.  And now I just have to wait for the other…

The knock at the door broke his reverie, and carefully, he set his tumbler down on the table, taking care that it rested fully on the coaster before rising from his seat on the couch.  Hope it's not a messenger boy or something, he thought.  It certainly doesn't look very good, me having to open my own door.

She was the last person he expected to see, her pale face made even more wan by the lack of make-up, golden hair hanging limply over her shoulders.  Mack felt that familiar tightening in his stomach at the sight of her, but steeled himself to it, lifting his chin just ever so slightly as he gazed out at her.  "Buffy," he said, the calmness of his voice in direct contrast to the sudden racing of his nerves.

He watched as she licked her lips, mesmerized by the sight of her pointed tongue as it darted in and out.  "I…didn't know where else to go," she said, barely above a whisper.  "You can tell me to leave, if you want.  I'll understand."  Her hazel eyes jumped to meet his gaze, then fell back down, staring at some spot on the carpet in front of him.

He knew he shouldn't, not after what she'd done, but his body was determined to ignore his good sense and stepped aside, allowing her clearance to come into the penthouse.  There was a moment as she hesitated, arms hugging her thin form, and then she was in, brushing past him, her flesh just inches from his own.  A whiff of her perfume drifted along behind her, assaulting Mack's nose, and his mouth went suddenly dry, forcing him to swallow in order to speak.

"If you don't mind my saying, it doesn't appear as if marriage is agreeing with you," he said, deliberately harshening his tone in an attempt to distance himself from the situation.  As he watched, she sat down on the couch, her back to him, burying her head in her hands.

"You haven't heard."  He almost didn't catch it, so low was her voice.

He knew what she was referring to, and though yes, he had heard, the thought of hearing the words come from Buffy's mouth was almost too delicious.  "Heard what?" he queried, crossing around to the front of the couch, looking down at her with steady grey eyes.

The young woman couldn't even lift her head.  "It's Spike," she whispered.  "There…was an accident."  She gulped, seemingly desperate for air.  "He's dead."

To be continued in Chapter 37: Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue…


	37. Five Foot Two, Eyes of Blue

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Tony has decided to run after having discovering that the Scoobies are onto him and Melinda has come through the painting.  Meanwhile, Buffy has gone to Mack to get ready to kill him once the spell is reversed.

*************

God, she was hungry.  I should've eaten before I came through, Melinda thought grumpily.  No telling how long this is going to take me, although sooner would most definitely be preferable to later.  Listening to the grumpy fat man wasn't helping either, but she didn't really have a choice since she could tell it was daylight outside, leaving her stuck inside the club until the sun set.  Stupid Tony, this is all your fault.

The redhead caught her attention as soon as she entered, not for the slight flush in her cheeks or the pounding of her heartbeat that Melinda could feel through her skin, but for the plain and simple fact that the female vampire recognized the new arrival.  She'd seen the skimpy costume, the high heels, and the hair had certainly been unmissable, and if she hadn't known what the painting looked like before Tony had stolen it, Melinda would just have assumed that the cigarette girl belonged in this dimension.  Except she knew different.  Hours of staring at her most valuable possession had imprinted every aspect of it on her mind, and the redhead wasn't part of those memories.  That meant only one thing.  She had to be from Sunnydale.

She watched as the other girl noticed Lombardi and came rushing over.  "What is it, Rosenberg?" he barked on her approach.

"I was looking for Tony.  Have you seen him?"  At the manager's blank look, she elaborated, "The trumpet player?"

Melinda's ears perked.  Well, this just got interesting, she thought.  What is she doing looking for Tony?"

"Band just broke up," Lombardi replied.  "He's probably still in back, packing up."

"Thanks."  

"Who's that?" Melinda asked, deliberately keeping her tone nonchalant, blue eyes glued to the redhead's retreating form as it disappeared through the exit to the back.

The manager shrugged.  "Just Willow, the cigarette girl.  No one you'll be dealing with."

As she followed him around to the bar, her thoughts were elsewhere.  Lot you know about who I'm going to be dealing with, Melinda mused.  "You know," she said out loud, "I think I need to use the little girl's room.  Do you mind?"

*************

Just left, just left, just left.  The refrain drummed through Willow's head as she turned away from the band's conductor, green eyes scanning the dimly lit hallway before settling on the exit out to the alley.  So, on his way back to his apartment, which means he'll run into Spike in the entrance, which means maybe I should head him off at the pass before we scare him away…

She saw him at the end of the alleyway, one foot hooked into the fence as he struggled to lift his weight up its height, the perspiration already dotting his forehead, dripping into his eyes.  What's he doing? she wondered, a tiny line appearing in her brow.  "Tony!" she called out, stepping out onto the single step before the door.

His body jerked at the sound of her voice, and he risked a glance back over his shoulder to see the redhead watching him.  Shit.  But it was only Willow, and as much as he liked the young woman, he knew at least that he could deal with her.

She didn't know what he was doing and was about to call out to him again, when the musician's hand reached out, pointing toward her, his lips moving but his words too low to be distinguishable down the narrow alley.  Confusion reigned for a split second, but as the bright flash crossed the gap between them, Willow's throat constricted, her muscles tensing to turn and run…

*************

She felt the familiar crackle of his magic crawling over her skin just seconds before she saw the redhead---Willow, he'd said her name was---crumple to a heap just outside the back door of the club.  OK, so Tony wasn't glad to see the other girl either, Melinda thought irritably, rushing forward to stand within its frame.  Leaning over as far as she dared without actually touching the sunshine that managed to slice its path into the alleyway, the vampire saw her ex's form clambering over the top of the fence, and grimaced.  Fucker was trying to get away and there was nothing she could do about it except watch.  Stupid sun.

Well, if I can't get Tony, I can at least find out what this bitch wanted with him, Melinda thought, and grasped the wrist that lay on the doorsill, pulling her roughly back into the safety of the club.

*************

Gino appeared at the bottom of the stairs, walking through the smoke of Spike's cigarette to stand at the front door.  "Is she still over there?" he asked, black eyes scanning the street.

"Yeah."  Spike exhaled, dropping the butt to the floor before settling his toe over its scarlet tip.  

"She's been gone a long time," the bouncer mused as he pushed open the door, letting more of the sunshine come streaming in.

"Hey, watch it," the blond scolded as he danced back away from the rays.  "Some of us would like to make it through this without havin' to be taken back in a Hoover bag."

Gino wasn't even listening, his black eyes narrowed as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, gaze fixed not on the club but on the alley that ran down its side.  Funny, for a second there, he'd thought he'd heard Willow's voice.  

Spike watched as the other man began crossing the street, not even looking around for traffic, but heading determinedly for the tiny opening of the alleyway.  Something had certainly captured his attention, but what it was, the vamp had no idea.  He shook his head as a car honked its horn at the oblivious bouncer.  That's what falling in love with a woman did to you, he thought.  Made you blind to anything but her and her needs, and the potential of fulfilling them.

*************

The alley was empty when Gino entered it, though he quickly noted that the back door to the club stood wide open.  Mindful of the fact that he was supposed to still be incapacitated, the dark-haired bouncer crossed carefully to it, black eyes darting around in case someone should step outside.  I get fingered and Buffy'll give me hell to pay, he thought, and then smiled.  Can't believe I'm actually kowtowing to a dame.  Go figure.

Willow's unconscious form was the first thing he saw as he peeked through the back entrance, and Gino rushed forward, his caution thrown out the window, scooping the redhead into his arms and ignoring the petite woman who knelt at her shoulders.  His meaty hand came up and brushed the hair away from her closed eyes, and he felt the first rise of panic in the back of his throat begin to burn.  "What happened?" he rushed, not even looking at the other girl.

"I don't know," she said.  "I found her like that."

Gently, Gino began slapping at Willow's cheek, trying to rouse her.  "C'mon," he whispered.  "Wake up."  His eyes scanned over the rest of her body, on the lookout for blood or torn clothing, anything really to explain her unconscious state, but returned to her face with nothing.  What could've knocked her out without leaving a mark? he wondered.  No bruises, no cuts…

When the possibility hit him, he quickly lifted his gaze, scrutinizing the darkened hallway.  "You haven't seen a trumpet player by any chance, have you?" he asked, finally turning to look down at the other woman.

Her blue eyes narrowed.  "Actually, yeah," she replied, her voice low and even.  "He went over the fence in the alley."  She stuck her hand out in greeting.  "I'm Melinda, by the way."

"Gino," he said distractedly, and laid Willow's unconscious body back onto the floor, stepping out behind the club to survey the empty space.  He was torn; part of him wanted desperately to take off after the musician, to catch him, bring him down, and then beat him within an inch of his miserable life.  The other part knew he didn't dare leave Willow alone right now.  Not when he didn't know what the hell was wrong with her.

*************

The last thing Spike expected to see was a panicked Gino gesticulating like a madman for him to come over to the club.  Bugger, he thought as he glanced up at the bright sky.  I'm going to end up a big pile of dust for sure this time.  He sighed.  Life had been so much easier before he'd had to worry about friends.  

He practically flew past Gino, throwing the flaming blanket from his shoulders as he skittered to a stop just inside the club.  "Better be worth it," he growled, and then spotted the dark-haired man cradling Red in his arms.  "Where's bugle boy?" he demanded.

"He took off.  I didn't want to leave her alone here."

"Fuck," Spike muttered, frowning back at the sunlight.  

"I'm going after him," Gino said, gently laying Willow back down onto the floor.  "I think you better call Harris and get her back to your apartment.  Maybe Mr. Giles can help her."

"She doesn't need the hospital?"  He couldn't smell blood, but that didn't mean she still hadn't been hurt.

"I can't find anything wrong with her.  I think Tony hit her with some of his magic."

Spike's eyes darted over to the fourth person in the mix, the petite brunette who'd slowly backed up against the wall since his arrival.  Gotta have a word with him about talkin' like that in front of the locals, he thought and was about to look back when the realization hit him like a cold slap across the face.  This one didn't have a heartbeat.  His head tilted as his blue eyes narrowed, one foot stepping carefully forward, toward the young woman.  "Don't recognize you, pet," he drawled.

"Oh, that's Melinda," Gino replied.  "She found---."  His eyes widened as he watched Spike leap forward, pinning the girl to the wall in a vicious move, his forearm pressing with barely contained fury into her neck.

"Let me go!" she hissed, fingernails clawing at his skin.

"So you can pull a Houdini?  Don't think so.  Not before we get some answers."  His smile was vicious as he tightened his grip on her, enjoying the small wince that came out of her throat.

Gino frowned.  "Who is she?"

Spike glanced back over his shoulder.  "Say hello to the painting's owner.  And Tony's vamp girlfriend."  His head swivelled back.  "Though, accordin' to him, it would be _ex-girlfriend.  That right?"_

Her struggling grew more violent, lashing out with her foot to try and kick at his more vulnerable parts, only to be countered by being tossed against the far wall, landing in a small heap before Spike could pounce on top of her.  "Just wait 'til Buffy gets her hands on you," he drawled, enjoying the feel of her squirms beneath him.

"Um, Spike?"  Gino's frown deepened as his friend turned to look at him.  "If she's from where you guys are, how come you're able to hurt her?  I thought your chip didn't let you."

It hadn't even occurred to him, his natural instinct to attack the other vampire overriding any sense of programming the chip might have instilled in him up to this point.  His sapphire eyes were calculating as he looked down at Melinda.  "They shoved this thing up my brain to stop me from hurtin' humans," he mused.  "Guess they don't mind if I take my frustrations out on other demons."  His lips twisted into a smile.  "Best bit of news I've had all day."  He didn't even look back as he ordered, "Go call Buffy, Gino.  Tell her we got her a little present here."

"What about Tony?"

"Yes," Melinda spat.  "The longer you wait, the farther he runs."

Spike's head tilted.  "Somehow, I don't think he's goin' to get very far with you in the picture," he commented.  "Seein' as how you've come all this way just to get him back."

"But what about Willow?"  Gino couldn't keep the anxiety out of his voice as he put forth the question.

Melinda snorted.  "She's not in any danger," she said, glaring at the blond pinning her down.  "Just one of Tony's stupid sleeping beauty spells."  Her mouth curled into a sneer.  "Of course, you don't get him back and she won't _ever wake up."_

Spike's fist shot out, connecting with her jaw with an audible crack, savoring the painfree pleasure of what hitting her was providing.  "Never say never," he drawled.  "Not as long as Buffy's still breathin'…"

*************

OK, so far, so good, Buffy thought.  He'd let her in, he was listening to her talk, and nothing bad had happened.  Yet.

"Pardon me if I don't express my regrets," Mack said, and she stole a quick glance up to see him studying her, the look in his grey eyes not anger but more of a smug determination.  She'd been there when Xander had made the phone call, knew the club owner was aware of Spike's faux death, but the fact that he was feigning ignorance slightly turned her stomach, the knowledge that he was enjoying her pain actually sickening to witness.  "Why are you here?" he asked.  "Because if you're expecting sympathy, you came knocking on the wrong door."

"I know…you didn't like Spike," she breathed, keeping her eyes down on the floor.  This was much easier if she didn't actually have to look at him.  "And I realize that all of this got sprung on you kinda fast, but you and me…" She swallowed; thank God Spike wasn't around to actually hear any of this.  "…we go way back, and I was hoping that…as my…friend…you might let me just stay here for a little bit?"  The next came out in a rush.  "My place…without…just feels wrong…everything reminds me."  Time to face the lion, Buffy; look up.  "Just for a few hours.  Until work tonight."

"Your husband gets killed and you're still going to work tonight?"  Even Mack couldn't keep the incredulity out of his voice, and for a second the young woman feared that she'd taken it too far.  If this doesn't work, she thought, no way do I tell Spike the specifics.  I'll be getting I-told-you-so's for the next twenty years.

"It'll distract me," she replied, and then remembered the first night she'd met him.  "And a girl still has to make a living, you know."

The tension visibly dissipated from his shoulders and there was no mistaking the small smile that twisted his lips.  This was his Buffy, Mack thought.  The beautiful girl who knew the value of a dollar.  Turning his back on her, he crossed to the liquor cabinet, picking up the bottle he'd opened earlier to pour out another tumbler full of the golden alcohol, and brought it back to the couch without comment, offering it to the young woman who sat there.

Buffy stared down at the glass, the thoughts clicking over in her head.  Shit.  No way could she drink this.  If she started in, all her control went out the window and that would most definitely be bad.  "I…haven't eaten," she offered lamely, carefully setting the whiskey down on the table.  "And if I show up drunk, Lombardi will have my ass."

Mack could barely hide his frown as he quickly slid a coaster under the tumbler, leaving it in front of her for her to pick up at her leisure.  "Lombardi won't say a word," he assured.  "Not if I tell him not to."  Although he desperately wanted to sit next to the young blonde, he settled himself in the chair opposite, lounging back to watch her through hooded eyes.  "So what happened?" he asked.  "Please tell me it was painful."

He saw the flare of anger in her face before she could stifle it, resuming the mask of grief she wore with silent pride.  "You don't really want the gory details," she said bitterly.  "You're just interested in hurting me by making me relive it."

He shrugged.  "Can't blame me for trying.  I haven't been anything but straight-up with you, Buffy.  I always thought I could expect the same from you."

"What are you talking about?"

"How do you think I felt when I found out you were married?  When I realized that you two had already gone and gotten yourselves hitched when I saw you at the hospital?  And you didn't say a word?"  His frustration began to leak into his voice, and Mack struggled to maintain his composure.  "It's as if everything I ever did for you meant nothing, and you were both laughing at me behind my back.  And I don't like being made a fool of.  You, of all people, should know that."

"We weren't laughing.  It wasn't about you at all."  OK, huge lie, but Buffy could feel her hold on the situation starting to slip, desperation taking hold as his anger began to become more obvious.  He's really unhappy about this, she thought, and then almost laughed.  Like ordering Xander to kill you and Spike didn't already tell you that? the little voice reminded her.  

"Oh, that's right.  I almost forgot.  The world revolves around Buffy Summers and what she wants, regardless of what others may feel."  Now there was no mistaking his fury, and he jumped to his feet, marching over to the front door and yanking it open.  "I think you better get out of here before you start regretting coming around in the first place," he said, unable to meet her eyes, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

The Slayer stood, hesitating before taking a single step toward him.  "You're…kicking me out?" 

He steeled his nerve, raising his grey gaze to stare coldly at her.  "I've never been one for sloppy seconds, my dear."

Crap, crap, crap, she thought as she crossed the room, heading for the exit.  So much for plan A.  "I'm sorry we can't be…friends," she said, stopping for a moment before him.  Last chance, she told herself, and biting her lip, Buffy leaned forward and brushed her lips over Mack's, a feather kiss of farewell, before turning and walking out of the room.

He didn't move, not even as he heard her footsteps echo down the hall, away from him.  Letting her go had to have been one of the hardest things the club owner had ever done, but pride didn't allow him to let her stay, not now, not yet.  He may love Buffy Summers more than life itself, but damned if he was going to let her dictate to him how to live it.  Mack played by his rules, no one else's, and one of these days, Buffy was finally going to learn that.

*************

"It didn't work?"  Anya's voice was incredulous, her hands on her hips.  "How is that possible?  That man was all beside himself last night talking about you."

Buffy shrugged.  "Guess he didn't believe me," she said, but the relief was evident in her voice.  Having to suck up to Mack had rated too high on the ick scale for her not to be happy she didn't have to do it anymore.

"I realize you're not Meryl Streep," Anya continued.  "But couldn't you have at least pulled off Heather Locklear?"

"Well, I, for one, am glad Operation Little Big Mack was a big ol' bust," Xander said.  "Didn't like it from the get go.  And don't you dare be telling Spike I said that."

"Speaking of Spike," the Slayer said, rising to her feet.  "I should probably go help them out with Tony since I'm not going to be of any use on the Mack front."

"Let us know when the spell's reversed," Giles instructed as he followed her to the door.  "Xander and I will stay here for as long as necessary."

Buffy nodded.  "I guess you got your way after all," she commented.  "But if I hear one bit of gloating from you…"  She waggled her finger at him in mock reprimand before heading down the outer corridor.

"I still don't see how he could've just turned her away like that," Anya said.  "I was sure---."

"Let it go, Ahn," Xander interrupted.  "It doesn't matter---."  He cut himself off when the phone next to him rang, reaching over automatically to pick it up.  "Hello?"  There was a long pause, during which time the young man's face grew increasingly bleak.  It finally ended with, "Sure.  Got it, Mack.  Just give me ten."

"What was that?" Giles asked as Xander put the receiver back in its cradle.

"I'm not so sure Buffy's plan didn't work after all," he commented.  "Just not in the way she was hoping."

"Why?  What's wrong?"

"Well, good news is he's called off the hit on Buffy."

"See?  I told you he didn't want Buffy dead!" Anya said triumphantly, and then frowned.  "Wait.  Saying that's the good news means you have bad news, too."

"Yep."  Xander slouched back against the rear cushions of the settee.  "Mack wants to see a body."

"That's not so bad," Giles said.  "Spike doesn't have a pulse, so there's no reason for Mack not to believe that he's dead."

"Yeah," Anya chimed in.  "All Spike has to do is remember to keep his eyes shut."

Xander sighed.  "He wants me to take Buffy, too---"

"That's still---."

"---so that she can place the order to get Spike cremated," Xander finished.

The trio sat in silence for a moment before Anya sighed.  "You know, I'd say we've just gone out of the frying pan and into the fire, but that wouldn't really be very funny right now, now would it?"

To be continued in Chapter 38: Why Don't You Do Right…


	38. Why Don't You Do Right

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Mack has decided he wants to see Spike's body before Buffy gets it cremated, while Tony has gotten away after casting a sleep spell on Willow.  Spike caught Melinda before she could get away…

*************

The trio watched the female vamp struggle against the chains that bound her to the wall, the heavy irons around her wrists clanking mercilessly as she attempted to rip them from their hold.  "And you're certain they won't…break?" Giles murmured, his voice shaded in worry.  "They don't appear to be very strong."

"Trust me, they may look like toys, but they've definitely got staying power," Buffy affirmed, sneaking a glance at Spike out of the corner of her eye, the faintest of flushes tingeing her cheeks.  

"We don't have much time before we have to go off and do Mack's little show and tell," the blond vamp reminded.  

The Slayer nodded.  The past hour had been a whirlwind of information---showing up at the club to find out about Tony's disappearing act and Melinda's arrival, calling Giles at Xander's only to find out about Mack's new order, convening back at Buffy and Spike's apartment to try and get what information from the female vampire that they could.  It had been agreed that they'd put on a little show for the club owner at the morgue, allowing him to view Spike's supposedly dead body---OK, literally dead body, but right now she wasn't going to argue semantics---and then hopefully put the whole cremation thing off just long enough for them to get what they needed from Melinda, get Tony back, and get home.  At least, that was the plan.  Who knew _what might actually happen._

"Then we should probably get started then," Buffy said, striding across the bedroom to face off with the other girl.  "Hi," she chirped brightly.  "I'm Buffy, the vampire slayer.  And you are?"

"You know who I am," the vamp hissed.

"Wrong answer," Buffy said, her fist shooting out to connect with the woman's jaw, jerking her head back against the wall with the impact.  "Let's try this again.  I'm Buffy, the vampire slayer, and you are…?"

"…Melinda."  She sucked at the blood between her teeth, her tongue darting out to catch the few drops that fell on her lips.

"See?"  Her smile was wide, if not genuine.  "That wasn't so hard.  Now, let's say we get to the nitty and the gritty here.  We know this painting is courtesy of your pocketbook, and we know the basics on how it works.  What I'd love to have confirmed for us, though, is…who's the safety?"

"The club owner.  Mack."

"And you reverse the portal by killing him?"

She rolled her eyes.  "Well, duh."  The collision between Buffy's fist and Melinda's abdomen caused the vamp to recoil in pain.  She glared at the Slayer.  "What did you do that for?" she growled.

Buffy shrugged.  "Didn't like your attitude."

From behind her, Giles cleared his throat.  "Any other…?" he prompted

"Oh, yeah."  The young blonde turned back to face Melinda.  "Outside of killing Mack, is there any other way to get out of this place?  Some secret trap door that we don't know about?  Click our heels three times and we're home?"

The captive's face screwed up into a frown.  "No," she said.  "Why would you need one?  And if you knew Mack was the safety, why have you been dragging your feet about killing him?  You could've saved me a trip into this place."  She grunted as another blow landed to her stomach.

"I'm not sure you've got our roles down yet," Buffy said.  "See, I'm the big bad interrogator, and you're the skanky ho interrogatee.  'Kay?"  She pivoted to look at the other two men.  "So we're back to finding Tony," she said.  "Mack's a one-way ticket.  We gotta get to him."

Spike nodded toward the chained vampire.  "She came this far for him.  I think it's a safe wager to say she'd know where he's rabbited to."

"I agree," Giles said.  "Although _why she's here is still a mystery."_

Buffy frowned, swivelling back to face Melinda.  "Yeah, I was kinda wondering that myself," she mused.  "Obviously you got your painting back, but if that was all you wanted, you wouldn't have come into it.  So what gives?  What's the scoop on you and bugle boy?"

The two women stared at each other, cold blue eyes glaring at curious hazel.  "His name is Tony," Melinda finally said through gritted teeth.  "And he's my boyfriend."

Spike snorted.  "Not accordin' to him, luv."

"He is!" she shot back.  "He's just…confused right now."

"Sounds like you're the one who's delusional girl," Buffy commented.

"We've been together for almost ten years now.  I'm not willing to throw it all away because of one little fight."

"Must've been a doozy if he was willing to run to a different dimension just to get away from you," Spike drawled.

"He wanted to hurt me," she retorted.  "That's why he stole the painting; he _knew how much I'd paid for it.  But once he sees that I'm willing to have it destroyed just to get him back, he'll forget anything ever happened and we can go back to the way things were before."  She turned beseeching blue eyes to Buffy.  "C'mon, you've been in love, haven't you?  Tony was the first boy I ever fell for.  And I loved him so much, I didn't even turn him after I got bit, just because he asked me not to."_

"Gee, that was generous," Buffy said dryly.

"Didn't stop the suckjobs," the other vampire added.

"Oh, like he didn't get anything out of it," Melinda snapped.  "Me being a vampire opened a lot of doors for him and his stupid magic.  I even helped him with most of his spells."  

"You…helped him?"  This from Giles.

"Well, sure.  You think he learned that little sleeping beauty trick on his own?  I taught him that.  Just like I taught him most of the other spells he knows."

"What about…protection spells?" Buffy asked, suddenly tensing.

There was a moment where the female vamp just stared at the Slayer, and then her mouth formed a perfect little o.  "Now, it makes sense," she said.  "That's why you haven't killed Mack yet.  So which one did he do?  The fast-healing one?  The disappearing one?  What?"

"The lightning-bolt-from-the-chest-if-someone-makes-a-move-at-me one."

Melinda frowned.  "That's not possible.  That takes two people to do right."  She waited for a response, but was met with their embarrassed silence.  "Don't tell me one of you---?"

"She didn't know what she was helping with," Buffy defended.

"_She?  Tony got help from a girl?"  The vampire's voice was rising.  "I'll kill him.  Little bastard thinks he can cheat on me."_

"Hello?  It was a spell.  That hardly constitutes cheating.  And Willow's already got a boyfriend.  Kind of."

"It was _Willow?  That redhead he knocked out at the club?"  Melinda's laughter began deep in her gut, bubbling forth from her bright-red lips to fill the room.  "Well, fuck if you guys __don't need my help," she sputtered in between giggles._

"Why?  What do you know that we don't?" Giles stepped forward, his eyes narrowed.

"There's only way to reverse that particular spell, and it requires both of the castors to do it," Melinda explained, the smile still wide on her face.  "So until you get Tony back to wake up sleeping beauty out there, you're shit out of luck."

*************

Even if she was under the influences of magic, Gino loved watching her sleep, the delicate curve of her full lower lip, the tiny laugh lines around her mouth, the butterfly movement of her chest as she breathed.  The innocence Willow fought so profoundly to deny while she was awake couldn't be hidden then, laying itself bare for anyone to witness, and it was all he could do not to scoop her into his arms right then, to shield her from any more hurt, hide her from any more pain.

He knew it was just a spell, and according to what that Melinda had said at the club, not a very dangerous one at that.  Willow's not in pain, he had to keep reminding himself.  She's just asleep.  But the keen need to fix it, to wake her up from this slumber, was eating at his gut, a corrosive anger that chafed his patience.  And the bickering couple next to the record player wasn't helping any.

"Just ignore him," Anya was saying.  "We're going to get out of here soon anyway."

"And then what?" Harris replied.  "I don't think you know what we're dealing with here, Ahn.  Mack's dangerous all on his own.  We ignore him and his orders, and there's no telling what he'll do."

"I admit, the man has a serious Napoleon complex," she argued.  "But I hardly think he's dangerous."

Gino shot his black gaze at the other woman, his tolerance finally worn too thin not to respond.  "Don't be a bunny," he barked.

Anya's eyes widened as she jerked back, his words almost a physical blow.  "What?" she demanded.  She turned to Xander.  "Why would he say that?  That's just mean---."

"He means, don't be stupid," her boyfriend explained.

"Oh."  She visibly relaxed, and then straightened as Gino's full intent hit her.  "Hey!  That's _still mean!"_

"Your boyfriend's right," the bouncer said.  "Mack didn't get where he is by playing nice.  And if Harris doesn't do his dirty work, that don't mean he won't do it himself."

"See?" Xander said triumphantly.  "Thanks, Gino."

The other man just waved his hand in dismissal and turned back to face Willow on the couch.  She hadn't moved.  Not that he really expected her to, but something, even a shift of her arm, would've been nice.

A loud crash from the bedroom jerked all of their attention to the door.  "Buffy's going to bring down the roof, she keeps it up like that," Anya commented.  "She can probably say good-bye to her security deposit."

Gino's eyes widened.  "That was Buffy?"

"Probably," Xander shrugged.  "Subtlety is not her strong suit."

"Neither is speed," Anya added.  "How long is she going to take in there?  We've got some killing to do."

On this, the dark bouncer agreed.  Every second Buffy and Spike spent in the other room with Melinda meant one more second Tony got to get further away, which meant one more second Willow was under the spell.  One too many seconds.  And it wasn't as if he was accomplishing anything by just sitting here, holding her hand, waiting for someone to come out and actually do something.  And even when they did come out, most likely they'd have to wait for the couple to return from the morgue before anything concrete was done about the trumpet player.

Xander frowned as Gino rose to his feet and headed for the door, face grim, hands flexing nervously at his sides.  "Where you goin'?" he called after the other man.

"Out," came the terse reply.  "Tell Spike I've got some work to do."  And with that, he closed the door behind him.

*************

When the trio emerged from the bedroom half an hour later, they each looked tired, shoulders slightly slumped, eyes drawn.  Xander leapt to his feet at the sight, crossing the distance between them in just a few steps.  "Well?" he asked.  "Any satisfaction from our Vampirella?"

"Yes and no," Buffy replied.  Her hazel gaze flickered over his shoulder to the couch.  "Any change with Willow?"

He shook his head.  "Still little miss Rip Van Winkle."

"Crap," the Slayer muttered.  "That means Melinda's probably telling us the truth on the other stuff, too."  For the first time, she noticed the absence of the dark-haired bouncer and frowned.  "Where's Gino?"

"He left.  Said he had some stuff to do."

"Just like that?  No explanation?"

"Just like that.  But then again, we're not exactly bosom buddies," Xander said.  "I don't think he trusts me enough yet to tell me anything."

"What did Melinda say?" asked Anya.  "Can we reverse the spell without Tony?"

Buffy shook her head.  "And not without Willow, either.  And we were right about the painting in Mack's penthouse being the way home.  Once he's dead, we've got an hour window to touch it before it becomes permanently closed, and we're stuck here for good."

"So, chop chop.  Let's get on the Tony-finding bandwagon," the ex-vengeance demon said, rising to her feet.

"As soon as we get this Mack business taken care of," Buffy said.  "You wait here with Giles, keep an eye on Willow.  We'll be back as soon as possible."

"Uh, hate to be the wet blanket here," said Spike, stepping forward.  "But Gino took off.  How'm I s'posed to get to the morgue without bursting into flame?"

"We'll have to drop you off first," the young blonde decided.  She sighed heavily.  "I am going to be _so glad to get back to the Hellmouth.  Slaying's going to seem like a vacation compared to all this."_

*************

It looked exactly like it had when they had left earlier that afternoon, the thick wood still staring back at him stolidly, mocking him with its closure.  With one last glance around the empty corridor, Gino grasped the door knob and tested its lock with a firm jiggle.  Strong, but maybe not strong enough.  He took two steps backward, bracing his wide shoulders against the wall opposite the door, and lifted his foot, lashing out at the latch with all the force he could muster.

The wood splintered, but didn't break, and his shoe came up again, landing a second blow that forced the door to open with a sticky creak.  For a split second, he froze, wondering if the sound would be heard by anyone else in the building, if all his efforts to break into Tony's apartment were just going to end up with him getting hauled into the slammer by the cops.  

Nothing.  Either everyone was out, maybe at work or something, or they were ignoring the very obvious signs of breaking and entering.  Either way, there was no one rushing forth to stop him, to prevent him from getting into the apartment and find what he was looking for.  Probably just glad it's not their place, Gino thought grimly, and stepped forward to push the door open wide enough for him to slip inside.

*************

She stared into his grey eyes, chin held high, remembering Spike's last words before they'd dropped him off.  "At the end of the day," he'd said, "Mack's just a guy who thinks he's in love with you.  Even if you can't hurt him physically, that still gives you power.  And power is what he's all about."  He'd leaned in then, intending to just give her a light kiss in farewell, and though he'd been surprised when she'd pulled him to her, lips searching his, arms clinging to his broad shoulders, Spike had reciprocated in kind, only separating when Xander coughed, none too discreetly.

Deep down, Buffy didn't doubt that they'd get out of this painting alive and intact, but knowing the vampire believed in her, that he had no fears she would do what had to be done, armed her even more strongly as she faced off with Mack in the doorway of his penthouse.  We _will do this, she thought.  Together._

"I wouldn't have thought you'd dress for the occasion," the club owner commented, his gaze sweeping over her made-up face, the sweater and trousers into which she'd changed, clinging to curves that only fired his temper further.

That's because I got vamp blood on my other shirt, she thought irritably, but said out loud, "In case we run late.  I don't want to rush to get ready for work."

"Car's downstairs," Xander offered from behind her.  

"Thank you."  Mack's gaze slipped over her shoulder to his right-hand man.  "I won't be needing you for this, Xander.  Go ahead and relax until I get back, help yourself to some of that Dalwhinnie I just got.  It's some of the best whiskey I've ever had."  His hand curled around Buffy's hip as he pulled her out into the hallway and past the other man, oblivious to the panic that had risen in Xander's eyes as he watched the pair disappear around the corner.

"I'll just hold down the fort!" he called after them, and glanced back through the open door into the penthouse.  Buffy alone with Mack…?  Somehow, he didn't think that added up to anything good…

To be continued in Chapter 39: Careless…


	39. Careless

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Mack has ordered Xander to stay behind while he and Buffy go view Spike's body, while Gino has broken into Tony's apartment…

*************

He knew it was just the fact that he was ultra-aware of the need to be quiet---that whole breaking and entering thing, though necessary, was still illegal---but Gino couldn't help but feel that every step he made in the tiny apartment was booming through the walls, announcing to the neighbors that someone other than the thin trumpet player was around, and that any second, a group of cops would come rushing in through the broken door behind him to arrest him.  He was half-tempted to take off his shoes and walk around in his socks, looking for what he wanted, but knew deep down that that was ridiculous.  Get a grip, he scolded himself.  Remember why you're here.

An image of a sleeping Willow flashed across his mind's eye, and he set his teeth, glancing quickly around the room for where to start.  Although his respect for Willow's friends was quickly growing, he was frustrated by their lack of focus, allowing Buffy and Spike to do all the work while they just waited in the wings, ready for the next order.  Not that he was a leader, not by a long shot, but Gino hated having to sit on his hands when he knew there was something he could do.  And they may be great at fighting demons and monsters back where they came from, but their vision was just a little too tunnelled to be truly effective here, not seeing the obvious right in front of their noses.  Which was why he was in Tony's apartment, looking for the answers that would bring the musician back so that he could wake up Willow.

The desk.  Start with the desk.  The wood creaked as he pulled open the top drawer, and Gino froze for a split second, wondering if the sound had penetrated the thin walls.  After a moment of resounding silence, he tugged it a little bit more, opening it just enough so that he could reach in and pull out its contents.  

There wasn't much.  A stack of bills, each carefully labelled paid with a date, none of them for anything out of the ordinary. A drycleaning receipt, probably for his tux for work.  Gino certainly had enough of those to recognize it wasn't anything important, and set it aside.  Some doodles…some more doodles…and as he shuffled the other papers aside, even more doodles stared back at him.  The bouncer shook his head.  What was with this guy and doodling?

When he reached the bottom of papers, he sighed, glancing around at the rest of the room.  For whatever reason, Tony hadn't kept it in his desk which to Gino made absolutely no sense since that seemed like the most logical place to store it.  Was it possible he carried it around with him?  But why would he do such a thing?  No, that made even less sense than not keeping it in the desk.  It had to be here somewhere.

His feet carried him into the bedroom, and he stared around at the sparse furnishings before walking over to the nightstand.  Sliding open the lone drawer, he was greeted with an empty space, and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.  Where could they be kept?  There weren't that many places in the apartment to hide things, or to store things, or even just to keep things around, and for some reason, he'd pegged the musician as someone who'd be compulsive enough to…

He felt the hard outline under his fingers as he gripped the edge of the mattress.  Frowning, Gino leant over, lifting the edge of the sheet to see the thin blue spine wedged into the bedframe, and he couldn't help the smile that spread across his wide face.  

Jackpot.

*************

The car ride had been silent, and Buffy mentally thanked whatever powers were watching over her for the brief reprieve from Mack's commentary.  No matter what she said, he managed to turn it around into some snide remark about Spike, or her relationship with Spike, or something equally annoying, and she was beginning to get just a little ticked off at his whole attitude.  Her palms itched from the desire to reach out and punch him in the nose, but she refrained, having to forcibly sit on her hands to keep them still, knowing that any offensive attack on the club owner would mean Kentucky Fried Buffy.  There would be time enough later, once the spell was lifted, for her to take out her frustrations on the man.  And she had every intention of enjoying every second of it.

As he led the way down the deserted hallways, Buffy trailing along behind him, Mack began to whistle under his breath, almost as if he were excited about the prospect of visiting the morgue.  The young woman scowled in distaste.  He was altogether too jolly for someone who was about to go and view a corpse, she thought.  Not that he hadn't already been viewing it every time he saw Spike, but that was different 'cause he didn't know…Mentally, she shook herself.  Stupid semantics.  Stop thinking about it so much.

The only thing she was worried about now was that Spike hadn't gotten caught out by anyone who worked here.  The arrangement had been for him to get rid of the staff---have them called away, whatever, as long as he didn't actually get rid of them in the sense of killing them---so that she and Mack could get in, take a look, and get out again before anyone was the wiser.  She'd deal with the cremation order later if she had to; right now, she just wanted to get this done and over with so that she could get out and look for Tony.

"This place is like a morgue," Mack joked, as they rounded another corner and walked into silence, both of them noticing that they had yet to encounter another living person since they'd arrived.  

"Can we just find the room, please?" she asked, unable to hide the annoyance in her voice.  

His glance back at her was cool.  "You don't seem particularly glad to be here," he commented.

"Because looking at Spike's dead body should be just like Christmas and my birthday all rolled up into one, right?  Only without the getting presents and, you know, being happy part."  She shook her head.  "Even you can't think I could possibly be thrilled about being here."

"You could think of it as…"  He paused in front of a narrow white door.  "…closing the door on that chapter of your life."

"How do you know this is the right room?" Buffy asked as Mack reached forward for the doorknob.

"Xander said so," he replied as if it was the easier answer in the world.  

She hung back as he pushed it open, grateful for the small relief that knowing Xander was still in the clear brought.  At least she didn't have to worry about him getting on Mack's bad side.  And he was so miserable right now with everything else that had been going on, he was in no danger from falling under the painting's spell.  Having him in the club owner's good graces was definitely a bonus.

"Not that he's going anywhere," Mack said, glancing back at her over his shoulder, "but this will go much quicker if you don't dillydally in the hall."

Buffy realized as she stepped through the entrance that she'd been holding her breath, almost as if she was afraid of what they were going to find inside, as if she hadn't orchestrated this whole set-up in the first place.  This isn't going to be hard, she reminded herself.  Spike's body is already dead, therefore no pulse, therefore in and out, no harm no foul.  Except being alone with Mack was giving her the creeps, and no amount of diversionary thinking tactics was keeping the goosebumps from crawling over her flesh, or the tiny hairs on the back of her neck from standing up on end.

The room was virtually empty, with the exception of a single gurney covered in a white sheet, the unmistakeable outline of a man's body underneath it.  Though she knew what she was going to see once the sheet was pulled back, a cold, hard knot began winding its way up her intestinal tract, stiffening her from the inside out, the all-too real perspective of standing in a morgue about to view her lover's dead form suddenly blinding her to their true purpose here.  She wasn't even aware when Mack eased past her, pulling the door from her lifeless fingers and gently closing it against the outside.  Nor was she able to blink when his hand curled around her wrist and guided her to the gurney's side.

"I think you should have the honors," he murmured, directly behind her.

Sick, she thought.  Sick, and twisted, and starting to get just a little too scary for his own good.  But until she could hurt him---until she could kill him---Buffy didn't have a choice but to do what he said.  After all, it wasn't as if she didn't know what to expect.

Taking a deep breath, she reached out, her hand steady, and grasped the edge of the top hem of the sheet, pulling it back just enough to expose Spike's head.  His face was immobile, the harsh overhead lighting casting pallid shadows under the contours of his cheekbones, his lashes and brows too dark against his colourless skin.  This was different to seeing him sleep; even then, there was some sort of play across his features as he dreamed---and she knew from experience that he dreamed---while now, there was just…nothing.  I've seen enough dead people, you'd think this wouldn't wig me out so much, she thought irritably.  But it did.  And it took all her strength to take a step back from the gurney.

"Not quite so pretty when he's dead," Mack commented dryly, and brushed past Buffy, gazing coldly down at the other man's inert form.  "Though I would've liked to see more damage, even a black eye perhaps.  Pity how even in death he manages to walk away unscathed."  His mouth curled into a cruel smile.  "Well, except for the being dead part, of course."

"You've seen him.  Can we go now?"

"Patience, Buffy.  Patience."  Pulling at the edge of the sheet, he further uncovered the vampire's shirtless torso, gleaming pale-white and looking more alive than the rest of him, courtesy of the tightly corded muscles that etched his abdomen, and the grimace of hate flickered across his grey eyes.  With thin fingers, he plucked the dead man's wrist from the side of the table, holding it lightly within his grasp as he searched for a pulse.

"Are you happy?  He's dead.  Let's get out of here."  Buffy couldn't keep the anger from her voice, folding her arms across her chest as she stepped backwards toward the doorway.  

"Oddly enough, no."  Mack's face was thoughtful as he glanced back at the young woman, one hand reaching into his jacket pocket ever so casually.  "I'm not happy.  I wonder why that is?"

"Because you didn't get enough cocoa in your Cocoa Puffs this morning?" she retorted.  "'Cause that'll do it for me."

"I suppose it's because it still feels like he won," he murmured, and took a step closer to Buffy.  "You still love him."

Her hazel eyes clouded.  "You think that just because someone dies, the feelings go with them?  Like they never actually existed?  The body's gone, so sayonara to being in love, is that it?"  She shook her head.  "And you wonder why I didn't wait.  If that's your definition of love, Mack, you're going to spend an awful big part of your life alone."

"Even more alone than losing you to that…third-rate goon has made me?"  She saw the muscles in his face twitch as he fought to maintain his composure.  "I loved you, Buffy.  I would've done anything for you.  All you had to do was ask.  You wanted that apartment; I bought it for you.  You wanted to be the best-dressed dame in the club; I made sure that happened.  _I did that.  Not Spike.  Me.  Because I __loved you."_

"And that's exactly why you'll never be the man Spike is…was."  She caught herself in her error, correcting it in hopes that he would just attribute it to the blond's too-recent demise as opposed to not being dead at all, and barrelled on.  "You don't want to love me.  You want to buy me.  That's a massive difference.  If you really loved me, you would've seen how happy I was with Spike and just said good for you and backed off."

"When exactly did I become the bad guy in all this?" Mack demanded, two spots of color appearing high upon his cheeks.  "_You left __me.  __You were the one who made a fool out of __me by fucking around with Spike behind my back.  Then, you have the moxie to move him into the place __I bought, the pair of you probably laughing about pulling a fast one on the stupid, rich ex-boyfriend, only he doesn't know he's the ex because you don't have the guts to tell me that to my face."_

The blade appeared in his hand out of nowhere, and Buffy realized that he must've pulled the small pocketknife from his coat, the hand that had been tucked inside it now cradling the weapon with a lover's touch.  Though it glinted in the bright lighting of the small room, she refused to give him the satisfaction of reacting to it.  After all, just because she couldn't hurt him, didn't mean she couldn't dodge any of his blows.  She was the Slayer; super-speed had to have some advantages in this scenario.

"Look," she started, her tone even.  "I know it hurts---."

"Hurts?  You think this _hurts?"  His grey eyes were almost black with anger.  "You can't possibly have any idea how it feels---how I feel---until you've been where I am, Buffy.  It doesn't __hurt.  It fucking __burns."  She watched as he turned back to stare at Spike's still form.  "Just like he's going to.  He'll know what it feels like then.  To be consumed by the fire until the only thing you want is for it to end.  Even if I can't bring myself to physically hurt you, Spike at least will get a taste of this hell you've put me in."_

"Spike's dead, Mack.  He can't feel anything anymore."  She'd liked it better when he'd been coolly vicious, not this rabid spurned lover with enough venom in him to knock out a small Asian country.  Just play it safe, she told herself.  Try to keep him focussed on logic.  Stay away from feelings.  "Having him cremated out of some need for revenge isn't going to accomplish anything."

"Oh, but I think it will."  Mack edged himself to the side of the gurney, staring down at the vampire in blatant disgust.  "I like the sense of irony it has.  It appeals to the aesthete in me."  The knife came up, and he began tracing a winding path along the sheet with the flat of the blade.  "I burn.  He burns.  We all burn together."  The tip of the knife snagged on the fabric and skittered across Spike's arm, leaving a trail of tiny bloody dots in its wake.

Buffy's eyes widened at the sight, and she found herself holding her breath, hoping that the blond vamp wouldn't move; it was only a scratch, after all.  Better to just get Mack out of here…

"So let's go sign the order," she said, stepping forward to his side, catching his elbow in her hand.  "Right now.  That's what you want, right?  So let's do it."

"In due time…"  He seemed mesmerized by the way his weapon was dancing in the light.  Pulling his arm from her grasp, he slowly circled the gurney, putting it between him and Buffy so that he could look up into her face.  "How long will you mourn him, I wonder?  Black really doesn't suit you, you know.  You look so much…lovelier in color."

"Do you have a point?" she asked quietly.  "Because hanging out in morgues is not my idea of a fun afternoon.  If you want to talk, or to yell at me, or whatever, can we please do it somewhere other than standing over a dead body?"

"I rather like the edge it gives me," Mack replied.  "It's keeping you…alert.  So, answer the question, Buffy.  How long will you mourn?"

There was a long silence as the two regarded each other.  I should just walk out right now, she thought.  Put an end to this cat and mouse game he's insisting on playing.  He'd follow me…I think.  She was beginning to wonder if she could predict _any of his behavior in the mood he was in right now.  "Do you ever stop mourning the death of someone you love?" she finally answered.  "I mean, life goes on, and you wake up every day, eat your cornflakes, go to work.  You get through it.  Maybe you fall in love again.  Maybe you don't.  But you don't forget.  You don't ever forget."_

"And how will you remember him?"  His voice had taken a steely edge, and the hand that held the knife grew agitated.  "With his arms wrapped around you?  Making love to you?  Hearing that damned English accent as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear?"

"There's no right way for me to answer that and you know it."

"No, I suppose not."  Mack's gaze returned to Spike.  "But I know you'll remember the face, that perfect face that the girls at the club are always talking about.  Don't think I don't hear them, know how half of them would kill to be in your shoes, Buffy.  And all because of this damned face."  And there was the knife again, hovering over the vampire's cheeks, the tip impossibly close.  "Maybe I don't want you to remember it this way.  Just maybe I'd like for him to be…not so pretty."

The blade sliced through the air, carving an arc in the hollow beneath Spike's cheekbone faster than Buffy could blink.  She saw the vampire's jaw twitch, his nostrils flare just ever so slightly, and then the crimson of the blood as it began to ooze down the side of his head…dripping into his ear…sticking to his hair…captured her attention.

Mack seemed oblivious to any response from the body before him, raising the small knife to see the viscous fluid that clung to its blade.  "Still fresh enough to bleed," he murmured.  She saw the gleam appear in his eyes, the sadistic lift of his mouth, and felt the first ounce of true fear since arriving here at the morgue.  He was going to slice him open, right before her eyes, and poor Spike had no idea…

"Don't."  Buffy swallowed, hating the fact that the next word was going to come out of her mouth.  "Please."

His look of triumph was unmistakeable.  "Ask again," he demanded.

Her heart was racing.  "Please don't cut him," she repeated, before braving, "For me?"

"But that's what this has all been about."  His face hardened.  "All.  For.  You."

She sensed the movement before it actually came, and let her Slayer self take over, grabbing Spike's arm and yanking him from the gurney.  As she pulled him to the far side of the room, his eyes shot open, and he stumbled against her, using her shoulder as leverage when he straightened.  "Sorry," Buffy muttered, then caught the frozen stare of the man on the other side of the table.

"It's…not possible," Mack was murmuring, his breath suddenly coming in short, shallow bursts, his eyes glued to Spike.  "You're…dead."

The vampire's laughter was more of a bark, and he sneered at the club owner as he wiped at the blood on his cheek.  "Yeah, well, I've always been the one for surprises.  Keeps people on their toes."

"But…"  He seemed at a loss for words, the shock of what he'd presumed was a dead body suddenly walking…talking…  "You didn't…no pulse…it's not possible."

Buffy sighed.  "Well, looks like if we're already in this up to our neck, we might as well go whole hog."  She glanced at Spike out of the corner of her eye.  "Show him."

It took him only a second to realize what she meant, but the joy he felt when he did spread across his face like wildfire.  "My fucking pleasure," he growled, and in the space of time it took him to swivel his head to stare over at Mack, Spike had slipped into his vampire visage, fangs elongating in a snarl, ridges jumping prominently onto his forehead.  With one graceful sweep of his thumb, he swiped at the crimson still running down his face before bringing it to his mouth and licking it, the tip of his tongue a lethal point.

Mack staggered back at the sight of the demon who now stood before him.  It was just like something out of the movies, only up close and personal, and why wasn't Buffy bothered by this?  His grey eyes darted between the two, his muscles refusing to work, and he just stood there and gaped.

"I think this is an excellent time to, you know, run," Buffy whispered to her companion, and resuming her grasp on Spike's arm, pulled him out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

*************

They came to a halt in the alley behind the building, panting only slightly as they stopped for a moment to assess their situation.  "Guess this buggers up our deadline," Spike commented, back in his human face.

"Yeah, well, if Giles asks, I'm not the one who ruined the plan, got it?"  She straightened, staring up at the early evening sky.  "We'll just tell him you moved or something when Mack cut you."

"Like Rupert doesn't have enough reasons to hate me," he muttered, and glanced toward the end of the alley, and the car that was parked there.  "Well, what now?"

"First, we get Xander and the painting the hell out of Dodge.  No telling what Mack'll do when he comes to his senses, and the last thing we need is to be worrying about how we're going to get to the picture in time once he's dead."

"Gotta get our hands on bugle boy before that can happen."

"That's number two on the list."  She matched his gaze to the car and grinned.  "Feel like knocking out Mack's driver and stealing his car?"

He laughed.  "Nice to know some of my influence is rubbin' off on you, after all," he chortled.  "But no way am I takin' the blame for that one with your Watcher."  

*************

He stood before the closed building and mentally swore at himself.  Should've been faster, he thought.  Should've found it sooner.  He'd rushed over as soon as he'd gotten what he wanted, risking more than one ticket as he ran a couple of red lights, and still he'd missed it.  Closed at five o'clock.  Stupid bank and stupid bank hours.

That was the one thing Gino had realized the others weren't taking into consideration.  In order for Tony to run, he was going to need money, or else he wasn't going to get very far, and based on what the bouncer had read in his bank book, he didn't have enough moolah to just pick up and leave whenever the fancy took him.  The musician was going to need whatever funds were in his savings account in order to get anyplace, which was why Gino was now standing in front of the First Union Bank, staring at its locked doors.

He wasn't good at the thinking bit; coming up with the money idea had been what he thought was his first and best chance at catching Tony.  Now, though, he was faced with the very real possibility that the guy was gone for good, and that Willow wouldn't ever wake up, and that Buffy and Spike would eventually end up being dead because they couldn't kill Mack in order to…

Gino shook his head.  Trying to sort it out gave him a headache.  Better to just not think.  I should probably just go on back to Spike and Buffy's, he silently resolved.  They'll have a plan.  They'll know what to do.

He turned around, hands stuffed in his pockets, ready to cross the street to get back in his car.  The sense of failure overwhelmed him, and he gritted his teeth against the hollowness it left in his throat.  Sorry, Willow, he thought, and then paused as the bus went thundering past, exhaust fumes filtering in the cool evening air.  He had walked halfway over the road when he frowned, glancing up at the red rear lights of the departing vehicle.  Tony didn't have a car; Gino's search of his apartment had proved that.  So, if Tony was going to blow, he was going to need…

His smile was grim as he hurried to get into his car, sliding his bulk over the leather and fumbling with his keys.  One more shot.  Just a quick hop over to the station, find out what he wanted, and if nothing turned up, well, _then he'd head back to Spike's.  Of course, it would be better if he wasn't empty-handed…_

To be continued in Chapter 40: Me and My Melinda…


	40. Me and My Melinda

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Mack has learned of Spike's true nature, and Gino is taking one last shot at trying to find Tony…

*************

Even for that hour of the night, there was a crowd milling around the bus station, people of assorted shapes, sizes, and ages, each with their own tale of why they were about to embark on this particular journey.  It was easy to blend in, to lose himself among the nameless faces as they waited, and for the first time since seeing Melinda, Tony was beginning to breathe a little easier, hope seeping into his aspect in spite of his still-knotted stomach.  

Everything was still all gone to shit, but at least it was all happening behind him now.  As well as were all his clothes, and all his magic supplies, and all his…Crap.  This had not been how he'd planned it.  There was supposed to be enough of a warning that he'd have time to get back to his place, grab his bag, and get on the first bus out of town.  Melinda wasn't supposed to come chasing after him like a vamp out of hell, and Willow wasn't supposed to have figured out what the protection spell he'd done was actually for, and the Slayer certainly wasn't supposed to be after him with her scary vampire boyfriend.  Lots of things not supposed to happen.  Somehow that didn't make him feel any better.

Getting the money from his bank account had been a nightmare.  Without his bankbook or any kind of proper ID, the teller had refused to help him, giving him the runaround so long that he'd begun to despair actually making it to the bus station in time.  It was only when the manager had stepped in, putting him through the longest interrogation he'd ever undergone as well as making him give several handwriting samples so that they could compare signatures, did anything actually happen.  And even then, they wouldn't let him clear out the account, allowing him to withdraw just a few hundred dollars.  It was enough for a ticket though, and would hold him over for a few days while he found work wherever it was he ended up.  And that was better than nothing.

So now he waited, breathing in the stale exhaust of long-banished fumes, watching the anonymous pass in front of his bench, allowing himself to wonder now and again where a nun could possibly be going, or why wasn't anyone keeping an eye on that little girl with the teddy bear, or did that blonde really think she looked good wearing that much make-up.  For a brief flash, he thought he caught a glimpse of a shoulder that looked familiar, but whoever it was disappeared inside the station, and Tony settled back and resumed his people-watching, his trumpet tucked safely between his feet.

When he heard his name over the loudspeaker, it almost didn't register, so lost in thought was he.  He frowned, glancing back at the station doors, wondering if maybe he'd misheard.  What could they possibly want with him inside?  Two minutes later, the announcement was repeated, and this time, there was no mistaking who they were asking for.  This just isn't my day, Tony grumbled, as he rose to his feet.  If they tell me something's wrong with my ticket, I swear I'll zap them into rats.

The inside of the station was just as dark as it had been when he'd arrived an hour earlier, and surprisingly enough, just as deserted, considering how many people were waiting around outside.  Marching over to the lone window, he set down his case, ready to argue with whoever was trying to make his getaway even more difficult, when a large hand clapped gently over his mouth.

"I got a bone to pick with you," he heard, and stiffened at the rumbled threat in the bouncer's voice.  He wanted to argue with him, plead for his freedom, but Gino's grip tightened, pulling him slowly away from the windows and, more importantly, away from any witnesses.  

*************

They met Xander in the hall outside their apartment, and the younger man quickly scanned over Spike's torso before coming up to look at the cut on his face.  "I'd say you look like hell, but I'm guessing you already know that," he commented.  "Did you rob a goodwill store for that shirt?"

"Nicked it from Mack's driver," the vampire growled.  "See how good you look in a shirt made for a man the size of a lorry."

"As entertaining as it always is to listen to you two go at it," Buffy interrupted, "we don't have time for this right now."  She pushed the door open and waited for the two men to enter before stepping inside herself.  Her brain was working in overdrive, trying to figure out what step to take next…how in hell they were going to find Tony…how she could use Melinda to get him to reverse the spells…if Xander and Giles were ever going to give Spike a break, especially since he was obviously going to be a bigger part of their lives from now on.  She sighed.  Just once it would've been nice to have a boyfriend that was easy to explain, or was easy for everyone to get along with.  But then again, that wouldn't be her life, now would it?  That would be too simple, and if Buffy knew nothing else, she knew that; a Slayer's life was never simple.

 It was almost as if they'd never left.  Willow still slept on the couch, Anya and Giles were playing cards at the coffee table, and from the bedroom, Buffy could hear the faint clanking of chains as Melinda still struggled to get free.  "How's our guest doing?" she asked.

"Being very loud," Anya complained, and laid down her cards.  "Gin."

"Are you all right?" Giles queried, rising to his feet and crossing to his charge.  "Your phone call was rather…short."

"You can thank Mack the Knife for that," Spike said, and turned to face Buffy.  "Don't really fancy usin' my good booze to clean this out properly, luv.  Think we've got somethin' that'll work just as well?"

"First aid kit's in my bathroom," she replied.

"What exactly happened?" Giles asked after the vampire had stomped out of the room.

"Mack decided he wanted a new career as a sculptor, only with knives and dead bodies, and guess who was his first subject?"  She shook her head.  "I think I seriously underestimated him, Giles.   He's pissed off as hell, and OK, maybe we bought a little time by freaking him out over Spike being a vampire---."

"Wait a minute."  His blue eyes frowned behind his glasses.  "You told him Spike was a vampire?"

"Well, kind of, in the not so much speaking way and more in the Spike vamping out in front of him way."  She bristled under his disapproving glare.  "Let's see how creative you get in ways of defending yourself against a jealous ex-boyfriend when you know you can't lay a finger on him.  And did I mention the knife-brandishing?  We're talking major jones for wanting some blood there, Giles.  And why am I even arguing with you about this?"  She brushed past him and collapsed into a chair.  "It's done, it's over with, and I just want to find Tony and beat him senseless until he reverses the spell so I can give Mack a piece of my fist."

"I don't suppose you've come up with a plan for finding him?" Anya asked.  "In between the having Xander steal a painting from a mobster and getting Spike to let the world know he's a vampire, I mean."

Buffy sat up.  "Look, I certainly don't need your attitude right now, either," she barked, and then sighed.  "But no.  No plan.  Not even a hint of a plan.  I was kind of hoping you guys would've come up with something.  I'm feeling planned out."

The other girl shook her head.  "Nope.  Only thing that happened around here while you were gone was Giles lost enough hands of gin to pay my rent next month."

"We weren't playing for real money, Anya," the Watcher reminded her.

Her scowl was immediate.  "Well, then why was I trying so hard?"

"What about Gino?" Buffy asked.  "Anyone heard from him?"

"No, which is probably just as well.  Willow's going to have a difficult enough time separating from him as it is.  If he's not here, then, perhaps…"  He was interrupted by a short knock at the door, and watched as Xander crossed to open it.

"Well, speak of the devil…" the young man started, only to cut himself off when he saw Tony's unconscious form being dragged along beside the burly bouncer.

Buffy leapt to her feet, watching as Gino unceremoniously dropped the musician onto the floor.  There was tape over Tony's mouth, and the bruise that covered the left side of his face was probably going to hurt like hell when he came around, but other than that, he was alive; even better than that, he was _here._

"What…?  How…?  What…?"

Gino ran a thick hand through his hair, ducking his head.  "Thought I'd try my hand at some good old-fashioned footwork," he said.  "Found him at the bus station."

"Why the gag?"

"You gotta be able to talk for the magic stuff, right?"  He blushed.  "I just figured if he couldn't talk, I was safe."

"It also helps if he's out cold," Buffy muttered, squatting down to gaze at the musician more closely.  "How'd you find him?"

"Just followed my nose and took a chance."  He looked up as Spike came sauntering back into the room, buttoning a new shirt around his slim frame, the cut on his face cleaned up considerably.  "What happened to you?" he asked of the blond vampire.  "I didn't think you had to worry about that Melinda getting gashouse with her all chained up like that."

"We didn't.  Met the wrong end of Mack's knife at the morgue."

Gino paled.  "You didn't…well, no, you couldn't…"  He hung back and watched as Buffy hefted Tony over her shoulder, carrying him to the chair she'd just vacated.  The musician groaned as she plopped him down, the sound muffled behind the tape, and his eyelids fluttering open, panic quickly setting in as he realized where he was.

"Hi there," Buffy chirped with a wide smile.  "Long time no see."

*************

The bruise was starting to swell over his right eye, so glaring up at the Slayer lost some of its effect as he struggled just to keep her focussed.  "As much fun as this is for me," she said, arms folded across her chest, "I'm getting kinda tired of asking.  So this is going to be the last time, got it?"  She didn't wait for a response.  "Will you reverse the spells, please?"  She grinned.  "Look, you even got a please with this one.  How can you refuse that?"

Tony grimaced, eyes darting to the people grouped around the room.  He didn't believe it was going to be the last time she'd ask.  If he said no, she was just going to keep on hitting him, and though he'd known from Melinda that the Slayer was a real threat, until he'd been on the receiving end of one of her punches, he just hadn't appreciated just how much it would hurt.  And hurt it did.

Very slowly, he nodded, and saw the look of triumph light her eyes.  "I'm glad you're finally seeing the fist of reason," she said.  "Now, I'm going to take your gag off so we can get started.  But if I think for a second you're pulling a fast one, you're going to be out colder than a dead fish.  Got it?"  

Tony nodded again, and watched as she reached forward, gripped the end of the tape, and ripped it from his face.  The pain was searing, sucking the air from his lungs as it left, but he didn't make a sound, just scowled up at Buffy.  "I always thought the Slayer was supposed to be a defender of the people," he said angrily.  "Making me do this is the same as making me sign my own death warrant, I hope you know."

She sighed.  "What're you whining about now?"

"You don't think Melinda's going to kill me at the very first opportunity she gets?  Why do you think I ran in the first place?"

Buffy glanced back at where the female vamp was tied up on the other side of the room.  "That true?" she asked.  "You came all this way just to take a bite out of bugle boy?"

Melinda shrugged, but the delight in her face at the idea was obvious. 

"See?" Tony demanded.  "And don't think she won't pull the torture thing, as well.  She likes to play with her food before she eats it."

"Ewww.  So didn't need to know that."  Buffy frowned.  "Don't think I'm letting you stay here.  You don't belong in this world."

"So he can just run when we get back to Sunnydale," came from Melinda.  "That seems to be what he's good at."  She smiled at her bruised ex.  "But don't think I won't come for you, Tony darling.  I found you here, I can find you there."  She yelped as Spike punched her in the face, her head rolling back before coming back to face the Slayer.  "Tell your boyfriend to lay off, why don't you," she snarled.

"You had it coming," Buffy murmured, and walked over to Giles.  "I hate to say this," she said, "but he's right.  I can't leave either one of them here, but I just know he's not going to be safe once we get back home."  She bit her lip, lost in thought.  "I think I got an idea…"

*************

They sat in chairs opposite each other, both bound with their arms behind them, both gagged, though Melinda's gag was more from Buffy getting tired of listening to her melodramatic screeching than any real need to keep the vampire quiet.  Their eyes were locked in venomous enmity, Tony's blazing in hatred, his ex's fired from anger, and for a split second, the Slayer wished that she could just kill both of them and put them out of her misery.

"All right."  Giles' voice was calm, but hard-edged.  "I'm going to remove the gags now.  If either of you says anything untoward or if I hear even the beginning of an incantation, Buffy will proceed to show you exactly how well she's learned how to inflict pain with as little effort as possible.  Is that understood?"  He waited for them both to nod before reaching forward.  "Fine."

Tony's face twisted in hostility as soon as his mouth was clear.  "Bitch," he spat.

"Asshole," Melinda countered, momentarily slipping into her vampire face before a knock on the back of her head by Spike brought her back to her human mask.

"Well, at least it isn't magic," Giles murmured, before leaning back in the chair that completed the triangle in the middle of the room.  "Now, let's get started, shall we?"

"I don't have anything to say to her."

"Like I'd even want to listen, you mortal jerk."

"Really?  That why you decide to come slumming in the painting?  Couldn't handle the fact that I was ready to move on?  Or that maybe that I might be interested in someone with an actual heartbeat?"

The Watcher pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes.  "Buffy, not only is this wasting valuable time, but…this is ridiculous.  I hardly think that couples' counselling falls within the realms of my responsibilities, especially when the couple consists of a vampire and a human."

She sighed.  "Do you have a better idea on how to get them so they at least won't try to kill each other?  'Cause I'm fresh out, and we can't afford to be wasting our energy babysitting them when we've got our own Ed Gein out there to kill.  If it'll make you feel better, you can think of it as practice for me and Spike."  She caught her lover's cocked eyebrow.  "Not that I'm expecting we're going to _need counselling," she quickly amended.  "But, you know, just in case."_

"You could let me babysit him.  I'll make sure he gets tucked in all nice and cozy.  Maybe even read him a bedtime story.  Something nice and bloody," Melinda growled.

Giles lifted a warning finger to the female vampire.  "Threats are not constructive here," he chastised.  "And if I hear one more from you, that gag is going back on your mouth."

"He started it," she whined.

Tony rolled his eyes.  "Because I have such control over my life, right?  I play your lapdog for how many years and the second I ask for a little room on the leash, you turn into some psycho bitch from hell.  If anyone started anything, it was you."

Buffy leaned back against the wall, watching the pair in the middle of the room argue, Giles' head going back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match, every once in a while interjecting some piece of advice or word of warning as their fight grew more heated.  Part of her couldn't really believe it was actually happening like this.  This entire nightmarish experience---OK, not really that nightmarish, since she did get Spike out of it, and the dancing part had actually been kind of fun, but the rest of it most definitely qualified as bad dreamy---had all started because of a stupid lover's quarrel.  Tony wanted some freedom, Melinda was afraid of losing him, and bam!  Everything to hell in a handbasket.  Or a demonic painting, as the case may be.

And it wasn't as if she could get super-pissed at either of them.  Yes, they were annoying to no end, and if she had to hear any more of that histrionic drivel come out of the female vamp's mouth, all that poor me and what am I going to do crap, she was going to stake her just on the principle of the thing.  But come down to brass tacks, and it was really all about a girl, and a boy, and what being in love had done to them.

Her hazel eyes glanced over at where Spike was hovering behind Melinda, arms folded across his chest as he did his best bouncer imitation.  When was the last time she'd had a real boyfriend?  Parker certainly didn't count; one week of what turned out to be his stock conversation pieces and a single night of "nice" sex hardly constituted a long-term relationship.  And Angel?  Sure, she'd loved him.  How could she not?  He'd been the fantasies teenaged girls drooled over.  Tall, dark, broody, mysterious.  OK, the vampire thing had thrown her for a bit, but he'd had a soul, did the whole white hat thing.  The fact that he was naturally fanged could be overlooked.  But then, of course, when Angelus had come back, it was bye-bye relationship, hello heartache, and nothing had ever felt the same after that.

Not until Spike.

By all rights, he shouldn't make sense.  _They shouldn't make sense.  Slayer, vampire, been there, got the t-shirt.  And he didn't even have a soul.  That in itself should've been enough to scare Buffy off.  But it didn't.  And they did.  And, though she didn't know why, she wasn't going to argue with it.  _

He must've felt her steady gaze, because his head tilted, glancing back at her out of the corner of his eyes, a tiny question lifting the corner of his mouth.  She smiled in return.  Oh, yeah, she thought.  They made sense.  Things might get crazy, and power-hungry, other-dimensional ex-boyfriends might decide to go all Norman Bates on them, but hey.  She lived on a Hellmouth.  What more could she expect from life?

*************

Giles sighed, replacing his glasses on his nose, the lines seemingly deeper around his eyes.  "Right, then.  Where are we at?  Tony?"

"I need to understand that Lindy needs to feel loved," the musician recited, his now-calm gaze locked on the woman opposite him.  "Which means paying attention to the little things, let her know I notice when she does something different with her hair, or something like that.  And just because she's whining about how bad her day was, or how she doesn't know how she's going to get rid of some enemy, doesn't mean I go into Mr. Fix It mode and try to solve all her problems.  She just wants someone to listen."

"Melinda?"

"I need to appreciate that Tony is his own man and that sometimes he needs his space, which might not include me, but doesn't mean he loves me any less," the vampire replied.  "And that I can't expect him to read my mind if I'm feeling something.  I need to tell him what's going on inside my head because otherwise it's unfair for me to get angry with him."

"Or…?"

"Buffy will hunt both of us down," they said together, the pair of them glancing fearfully at the Slayer standing just behind the Watcher.

"Good."  Giles rose to his feet, and turned to his charge.  "For the record, this little addendum to my Watcher qualifications is going to cost you, but…they're all yours."

"Good."  Buffy stepped forward, rubbing her hands together expectantly.  "Who feels like a little magic?"

To be continued in Chapter 41: Smoke Gets in Your Eyes…


	41. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Gino found Tony and took him back to the Scoobies, where Buffy convinced the musician to reverse the spells…

*************

It was the softest blanket she'd ever felt, the fleecy texture like lamb's breath on her cheek, and it seemed like the last thing in the world she wanted to do was step out of it.  Sleep, she thought drowsily.  Just five more minutes, please, mom…

"Waken."

The single word wrapped itself around her head, squeezing like a vise, forcing her to open her eyes and blink against the sudden brightness that seemed to be beaming down directly onto her face.  The softness was gone, and instead Willow felt numb, her muscles frozen from icy disuse, the groan of pain escaping her lips as she let her lids flutter back shut.

"What's wrong?"

"Why isn't she waking up?"

"If something's happened to her…"

Their voices were a strident dissonance bouncing around in her skull, and feebly, Willow fought to lift a hand to her forehead, fingers dancing across its expanse as she struggled to reconcile the pain.  Why were they all yelling?  What could possibly be so important that she had to wake up for it?  What difference could five more minutes make?

"Willow…"

And the softness seemed to return, a gentle caress of her cheek that promised puppies and chocolate, if only she would open her eyes…

"Wake up, Willow…"

She knew that voice, the deep baritone wrapped in caramel, concern shining through its inherent gentleness.  It brought back memories of soft kisses…strong hands…feelings of safety…and her lids drifted back up, blinking once…twice…then squinting into Gino's worried face.

He seemed to be waiting for something, his black eyes scanning hers, before his lips softened into a small smile.  "Don't scare us like that," he chastised.

"Why?  What'd I do?"  Her voice was barely there and impossibly high, but the relieved laughter that came from around her brought a wan smile to her face.  

"Well, that's spell number one," she heard from somewhere behind her head.

"Somehow, I don't think Willow's quite ready for the other spell just yet."  The quietly modulated response came from her feet, and she slowly turned her head to see Giles standing at the end of the couch.

"What spell?" she asked.

"The reversal of the protection spell," he clarified.

That's when it all came back to her…the scene at the club as she watched Tony at the end of the alley…the sensation of falling as the magic hit her…Her brows crinkled, a gesture that almost hurt as the headache began to recede.  "What did he do to me?" Willow queried.  "Am I OK?"

"You're just jake," Gino soothed, pushing the hair away from her forehead.  "He just made you sleep for a bit.  But you're fine now."

"How'd…you…?"  Her gaze slipped over his shoulder, and she saw Tony's bruised face looking down at her, the apology unsaid in his eyes.

"Your boyfriend's persistent," the musician commented.  "And he's got a mean right hook."

The last made Gino blush in shame, and Willow laughed out loud, in spite of the pain that went rocketing through her brain.  "I don't suppose…I could…have some water?"

"I'm on it," Xander said from somewhere else in the room.

"We don't have much time."  That was from Buffy, and the young witch lifted her head to see her best friend standing on the other side of the couch, Spike hovering just behind her.  "Mack's going to have figured out by now that Xander lied, and he's going to come gunning for us.  I'm sure of it."

"How long was I out?"

"Too long," Gino replied.

"But you're back now," Buffy said.  "And as soon as you're up for it, we're going to do the reversal of Tony's protection spell.  Then, it's hello Sunnydale and so long creepy painting world."

The shrill ring of the telephone split the air, and the room went silent for a moment as everyone just stood there and stared at it.  

"It's gotta be Lombardi," Buffy said on the third ring.  "Everybody else is here."

"It could be Mack," Anya offered.  "Checking to see if you're here before he comes over and kills you."

"Whoever it is, they're not worth a toss in the gettin' home scenario so I say just ignore 'em."  Spike looked around at the group, waiting for someone to disagree with him.

Nobody moved.  The ringing went on…once…twice…three more times before finally settling into silence.  "Well," Buffy said, her chest relaxing as she breathed out a sigh, "where were---?"

And the peal of the phone returned, announcing the caller in a discordant voice that couldn't help but capture their attention again.  It continued as before, ending after the sixth ring, but this time, when it finished, there wasn't a sound anywhere in the room.  

It took only seconds for the telephone to begin its song again, and the frowns and confusion were worn by all.  Anya rolled her eyes.  "This is ridiculous," she muttered, and marched over to pick up the receiver.  "Hello?"  The room seemed to be holding its breath while they waited for the young woman, watching as she turned to face Buffy, holding out the phone in front of her.  "It's for you."

"Like I didn't already know that," Buffy said under her breath, and crossed the distance to take the receiver from her friend.  "Hello?"

"Hello, Buffy."

She couldn't help cringing at the sound of his voice, his sanctimonious tone sliding over her skin like a snake wrapping itself around its prey.  She felt Spike come up behind her, his hand in the small of her back, almost as if he was holding her up, and took a deep breath.  "Hello, Mack," she replied.

"That was a very interesting…show you and your husband pulled at the morgue."

"No more interesting than your little knife play."

He laughed.  "I think you would win the award for theatricality, my dear."  There was a pause.  "And for surprises.  Imagine my astonishment when I returned to my apartment and found both my most trusted employee and my favorite painting gone.  I can only assume that has something to do with you.  The timing is just too fortuitous for it not to."  She heard the slight hardening in his voice.  "How do you do it?  Promises of sex?  Offer him your body in lieu of loyalty to me?  I warn you, Buffy.  Xander's not a man who'll suffer being made a fool of, once he realizes your heart is with that…monster.  He _will turn on you."_

"And that just shows how little you know him," she retorted and instantly regretted letting him get to her.  "What do you want, Mack?" she asked, slightly more evenly.

"Oh, the usual.  Fame, fortune, a happy ending."  His chuckle seemed to ooze from the phone.  "Oh, wait.  I've already got those."

"If you don't have a point to calling, I'm---."

"There's a point.  There's always a point."  She could almost see him standing there, the receiver in those too-manicured hands, grey eyes gleaming.  "Since you were the one who suggested it earlier, I just wanted to say Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday."

"Huh?  What the hell are you talking about?"

"I just wanted you to know…I haven't forgotten your presents."

The line went dead in her hand, and Buffy frowned as she returned the receiver to its cradle.  "What did the wanker want?" Spike asked, head leaning forward to gaze into her face.

She shook her head.  "I don't know," she replied slowly.  "But if I had any doubts about him being a danger to us, they are now completely gone.  The man's wacko."

*************

The red tip of his cigarette flared brightly in the darkness as he sucked at the filter, inhaling the fragrant smoke before letting it out in a directed stream.  The nicotine was soothing, settling his excitement as his grey eyes fixed on the building down the road, and Mack carefully knocked the ashes into the gutter, watching them scatter in the slight breeze.

There were others inside---the voice of the woman who'd answered the phone had sounded vaguely like the new girl from the club---but frankly, he didn't care.  Choose to associate with his enemies and suffer the burn along with them.

He could already begin to smell the acrid fumes as they began to drift down the street, and briefly wondered when the first signs of color would become apparent.  His instructions had been explicit.  From the bottom up.  There could be nowhere for her and her demon lover to run.  This time, though, no one would be coming to her rescue, no alarms would sound; one carefully placed phone call had ensured that help would arrive too late for the building and its occupants to be saved.  Still, anything could happen, and Mack certainly wasn't going to miss the show.  Not now.  Not after everything the bitch had done to him…

*************

At least the room wasn't spinning anymore.  Willow sat on the edge of the couch, her head between her knees, wishing that the nausea would just go away and wondering why if it was just a sleeping spell, she felt like such crap.  She never felt like this when she woke up, maybe a little fuzzy but certainly not like she'd downed a swimming pool of margaritas the previous night and was suffering the hangover from hell.

Gino's arm around her shoulders was comforting, but suddenly too heavy, and she shrugged him away as she straightened.  "Do we have everything we're going to need to reverse the spell?" she asked.

Giles nodded.  "Tony assures us that he can make do with whatever is in the kitchen."  He frowned as Spike stiffened, suddenly alert, blue eyes staring at the front door.  "Is something…wrong?" he asked the blond vampire.

"Be right back."  He was out the front of the apartment before anyone could say anything, not even bothering to close the door behind him.

"So once it's done, what's going to happen then?"  Willow's green eyes were worried.  "From the sounds of it, Mack doesn't sound like he'll just drop by for a friendly cup of tea and a stake through the heart."

"We don't know," Giles admitted.  "We're still working on that part---."  His head whipped around as Spike came flying back, jaw locked, face tense.  "What is it?"

"Gotta get outta here," the vampire ordered, hurrying to the kitchen only to come up short as Buffy stepped out.

She saw the tightness in his cheeks and immediately straightened.  "What's wrong?" she demanded.

"Don't know why the bastard called, but at least I've sussed out what the hell he's plannin'.  And we've gotta get everyone out of here.  Now."

"Why?"

"Y'know how he wanted me to burn with him?  Well, looks like he's decided to add you onto the funeral pyre, luv.  The bleedin' building's on fire."

It only took her a second for that to register, Mack's words---_Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday---finally making sense, the phone call his last attempt to flip her the bird before sending her off to meet her maker.  Her hazel eyes grew cold, automatically going into Slayer mode.  He doesn't know who he's dealing with, she thought grimly.  No way am I going to get beaten by that little creep._

"What exit options do we have?" she asked.

"Stairs should be OK if we move now," Spike said.  "It's in the basement, but it's goin' pretty good.  No tellin' how fast it'll move."

Buffy turned to face the rest of the group.  "You heard him, folks.  Time to saddle up.  Xander, you get the painting.  Guard that thing with your life.  We can't afford to lose it at this point, not when we're this close."  Her gaze settled on the still-pale Willow sitting on the couch.  "Are you OK to walk?" she asked her friend.

Tentatively, the redhead stood, only to reel from dizziness.  Gino's hand shot out to her waist, steadying her.  "I've got her," he said.

"Gino and Spike'll drive us over to Giles'," the Slayer continued.  "We'll do the spell over there, and then figure out the killing Mack part."  She turned to face the musician who had come out of the kitchen behind her.  "You're with me."

"Hey!"  Buffy's head jerked over to where Melinda still sat, tied up in the chair.  "Highly combustible vampire here.  What about me?"

For a second, the blonde looked as if she was contemplating leaving her bound, then sighed.  "You promise to behave?"            

Spike strode forward and began undoing the other vamp's fetters.  "'S'ok, Slayer," he said.  "I'll keep an eye on her."

She nodded.  "Let's move."

*************

The smoke was already beginning to curl up the stairwells as the group filed down, Xander and Anya in the front, Spike taking up the rear.  Heat from the fire below scorched the walls, making them too hot to touch, sending burning flushes across any exposed skin and speeding their steps even further.  Between the growing warmth and the spreading smoke, it was getting increasingly difficult to breathe, the humans in the group holding hands over their mouths, as if by doing so it would filter out the bad stuff and leave only clean air in its place.  Not for the first time, Spike was grateful he didn't need to worry about oxygen.  Now if he could just stay away from the fire…

With one floor still to go, Xander stopped, gazing down at the flames that were already eating away the next flight.  "I think we made a wrong turn at Albuquerque," he commented tightly.

Buffy pushed forward, leaning over the railing to discern the extent of the damage, only to straighten with a frown on her face.  "There's another stairwell," she said.  "Follow me."

Backtracking, she jogged down the hallway of the apartment building, wondering why no one else seemed to be in such a hurry to get out.  Probably already had the rest of them evacuated, she thought bitterly.  Mack just wanted to trap me and Spike like two little mice and watch us go up in smoke.  She pushed the thought aside, though, along with the feelings of anger it incited.  Can't think about that now.  Focus on getting everyone to safety.

From the back of the group, Spike watched the Slayer run along, her golden hair flying along behind her, lean muscles working in elegant accord.  When she concentrated like this, she reminded him of a finely honed weapon, a blade so sharp that the merest whisker of a touch would penetrate flesh to the bone, and his unswerving pride in her capabilities seemed to swell.  That was _his girl up there.  His Slayer.  And the phrase seemed almost like a song in his ears._

When Buffy opened the door of the second stairwell, the black smoke came rolling out in swirling waves, sending a ripple of coughs down the line of the group.  Holding her hand over her nose, she dashed quickly inside, then darted back, staring down at her friends.  "OK, the smoke's pretty bad in there, but as far as I can tell, there's no fire yet, and stairs actually where they're supposed to be is a huge bonus for us.  We're going to have to make a break for it.  Just keep your head down, your mouth covered, and meet up at the cars.  Got it?"

The next two minutes were a blur.  As each of them emerged onto the street, faces blackened from the smoke, lungs screaming for fresh air, they each went off into their own little world, pulling themselves together, trying to separate themselves from the growing inferno at their backs.  The two least affected were the vampires, and, grabbing Melinda's arm, Spike yanked her over to the nearest car, shoving her into the backseat with a graceless thrust, before slamming the door shut.  Behind him, Gino came staggering up, a coughing Willow in his arms, his own face a dark smear in the moonlight.

"You OK?" he asked.

Spike nodded.  "How's Red?"

"Red's fine," Willow said weakly, lifting her head away from Gino's chest.

Stepping back into the road, the blond vampire tilted his own head back, staring up at the building as the flames began to lick up its side.  It was a good job, for an arson attempt; he'd certainly torched enough places in his time to know the hand of a master when he saw it.  But something about it didn't sit right with Spike.  Something was wrong.  Something was…

…here.  

Very slowly, Spike's head swivelled, staring through the smoke down the road.  He couldn't see it.  He couldn't smell it.  But he knew.  It was there.  Out there.  And it wasn't expecting him.

"How long will it take you to do the reversal spell, Red?" he asked, the word slow and even, his blue eyes fixed on the nothing ahead of him.

"Once we get everything set up, only a couple minutes.  Why?"

"Get Tony and do your thing.  Now."  There was no room for argument in his tone.

Willow frowned as Spike began to walk away.  "Where are you going?" she called out after him.

"Got a spot of unfinished business to take care of," he said, his voice drifting back to them on the waves of smoke that hung in the air.

*************

His own cigarette seemed redundant in the wake of the black smoke that was now filling the street and Mack tossed it to the ground, looking down at the sidewalk as he ground the glowing tip out with his heel.  The fire was now visible as it travelled up the side of the apartment building in sheets of orange and red, crawling through windows, sending tinkling shards of glass flying to the cement as pane after pane shattered from the heat.  In the velvet blackness of the night, the club owner couldn't help but think that it was truly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

His head was still lowered when he heard the crunching on the road, and his eyes were fixed in a frown as he looked up, peering into the dusky fog that separated him from the blaze.  For some unknown reason, Mack felt the hair on his arms prickle, and a surge of adrenalin began pumping through his veins.  Ever so slowly, his hand stole into his pocket, playing with the knife he kept sheltered there, calming himself with its steely promise of death.

The smoke was starting to burn onto his pupils, and his foot stepped back, edging him away from the encroaching danger.  Probably time to go, he thought.  I've certainly seen enough.  But his body refused to respond, riveting itself to the ground as the black form became outlined against the mist in front of him, thickening to a steadily approaching solid mass…with eyes gleaming golden through the smoke…

…Spike…

To be continued in Chapter 42: They Can't Take That Away from Me…


	42. They Can't Take That Away from Me

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.    
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Tony woke up Willow but while they were trying to formulate a plan on what to do next, Mack had the building set on fire, with the Scoobies escaping just in time.  Once out on the street, Spike sensed someone was near and told Willow to do the reversal spell with Tony now…

*************

Her lungs burned from the smoke she couldn't help inhaling, but her eyes were clear, scanning the street around her as she mentally ticked off her Scooby list.  Xander and Anya huddled near under the streetlamp, checking over the painting for damage…Melinda looking pissy in the back seat of one of the cars…and there was Gino, with Willow in his arms, striding purposefully toward an arguing Giles and Tony.  Buffy frowned, her gaze making the sweep again.  No, she hadn't been mistaken.  He wasn't there.  But he had to be, Melinda was safe and sound.  Where could Spike have gone?

The Slayer's head swivelled to stare back at the door from which they'd just emerged.  Was it possible he'd gone back inside?  But for what? There wasn't anything they needed in there; everything and everyone of importance was out here, on the sidewalk, looking like extras from the Towering Inferno.  There was no logical reason for him to have left the group.

She laughed, a harsh rasp that was drowned out by the roaring flames behind her.  Since when had Spike ever been logical?  Better to just skirt the area, see if he was just hidden by the smoke.

Tony's hand on her arm stopped her.  "I need my stuff," he said, reaching for the bag that was strapped over her shoulder.

"What for?"  Her brow was furrowed as she just stood there, watching as he took it away and began rummaging around inside.

"We're going to do the spell now."

Buffy looked up to see Willow and Gino behind the musician, the young witch's green eyes too-bright in the dusky smoke.  "I thought we were waiting 'til we got to Giles' place."

"Spike said to do it now."

That's when it clicked, and the Slayer's head jerked as she stiffened.  Only one reason he would say that.  "Which direction did he go?" she asked tightly.

*************

Even through the smoke, his eyes glittered, tawny orbs hardened against the sight of the man in front of him.  "Shoulda known you wouldn't want to miss the show," Spike said.  "Though I would've thought you'd get better seats, a big hotshot like yourself."

"Don't you ever die?" Mack commented, refusing to allow his fear of the monster to permeate his voice.

He shrugged.  "Did it once.  Don't really fancy doin' it again."  Mack couldn't help but let his gaze flicker over the vampire's shoulder, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by the other man, and Spike grinned.  "Scared Buffy might be makin' an appearance?" he taunted.  "Don't worry.  This is between you and me."

"Does that mean…?"  The club owner stiffened.  This wasn't worth it if Buffy was the only one to die.  Although he'd wished them both dead and out of his life, his priority had been on the blond Englishman; if circumstances reversed it on him, Mack was going to be pissed off as hell.

"It means I should've killed you when I had the chance."  Spike's tone had hardened, knives dripping from his voice as he took a step closer.  "Though I got a feelin' I'm goin' to enjoy this a helluva lot more considerin' what happened at the morgue."

They stood and stared at each other, grey eyes locked with golden, and Mack fingered the knife in his pocket.  Though his skill with the blade was considerable, to do any real damage he would have to be up close, and frankly, he didn't doubt that the blond demon couldn't take him in such proximity.  Yet…he just stood there, not moving, his tongue flicking out to run along his fangs, almost as if he was waiting for something.

"How does it feel having to get saved by Buffy?" Mack queried, deliberately keeping his voice light.  "She's the only reason you're not a walking Picasso, you know."

"Feels like she loves me, but you wouldn't know anything about that, now would you?"  Spike's head tilted in amusement, watching the other man squirm in discomfort.  "Makes your gut crawl, doesn't it?  Like thousands of tiny worms gnawin' at your entrails, knowin' pretty soon, they'll make their way to that black lump you call a heart, only to chew it up and spit it out."

Mack laughed, a short, sharp bark that cut through the smoky air like glass.  "That's very poetic, Spike," he commented.  "Is that the kind of bed talk you share with Buffy?  Drown her in your awful poetry until she falls asleep?"  He saw the tiny flinch in the vampire's jaw, and his smile widened.  "I believe I've struck a nerve," he said gleefully.  "Please tell me it's the same one I sliced open on your face.  I love opening up old wounds."

His charge at him was instinctual, a leap through the cloudy smoke based on hatred and the desire to hurt.  In the same instant, Mack's body curled to duck, the air around him suddenly thick, charged with some unknown energy, and he froze as the electricity jumped the distance between the two men, striking Spike in the chest with a force strong enough to knock out a small elephant, sending the blond sprawling onto the pavement.

Mack's grey eyes widened, looking down at his own body in amazement before lifting to view the vampire on the ground.  He had no idea what had just happened, but whatever it was, it had saved him from what had appeared most likely to be a fatal attack on Spike's part.  His breathing slowed as he began to regain control of his racing thoughts, and the realization that the other man couldn't hurt him began slowly to sink in.

"Definitely struck something," Mack murmured, taking a cautious step forward.  "Question is, what?"

Spike stumbled to his feet, the burning in his chest easing slightly as he fought to ignore the pain.  "It ain't gold," he growled, and stood his ground, watching as the other man took yet another step, refusing to give him the satisfaction of retreating.  C'mon, Red, he thought impatiently.  I don't have all day here.

"I have to admit," Mack was saying, continuing his approach, "this certainly qualifies as the strangest day of my life.  Men rising from the dead.  Strange forces that turn on you when you try to attack me.  And, you know, I got a hunch, you and Buffy know something about it, Spike.  So tell me.  What's the wire on it?  Why don't you just go ahead and kill me?  I know you want to.  I can see it in your eyes.  Even if they are yellow."

He was within striking distance now, and Spike saw the muscles in the other man's arm tense as his hand gripped whatever he was keeping in his pocket.  Probably that bloody knife, he thought, but stayed his ground, chin high, eyes only slightly narrowed as he quickly surveyed his surroundings.  He knew---could feel---it was just the two of them.  Whatever men had done the deed with the fire were long gone, most likely too afraid they'd get caught bang to rights for the crime.  The only ones here were Spike and Mack…

And that was when he picked up the second heartbeat, his senses alerting to the stealthy approach of a third, this one most definitely human.  It was behind him, although not directly, more like off to his right someplace, and its steady pace meant it would be alongside him in mere seconds.  Not goin' down without a fight, he thought.  Even if it fries me…

"Please tell me you brought marshmallows," came Buffy's voice from the smoke as she stepped up, arms folded across her chest.  "I hate letting all this pretty fire go to waste."

Mack's feet stopped at the sight of the young blonde, her face smudged from the smoke, and felt his anger rekindle.  "I can see that I was right.  Black really doesn't become you."

She ignored his gibe and turned to look at the vampire, noting the singe marks on his chest where the magic had hit him.  Hazel eyes darted up to meet his, and she frowned.  "You should've waited," she scolded.

"He pissed me off."

"Yeah, well, he's good at that."  Gingerly, Buffy's fingers fluttered over the burn, a heated balm that immediately brought his cock to attention.  "Doesn't hurt too much, does it?"

He shrugged.  "I've had worse, usually from you."

She smiled, and realized for the first time that he was wearing his vampire visage.  "Were you going for the if-I-can't-hurt-him-I'll-scare-him tactic?" she teased, reaching up to touch the ridges lightly.

As soon as her fingers met his forehead, Spike slipped back into his human mask, his unconscious step drawing him closer to her thin form.  "Someone had to have a plan," he murmured.  "And you were too busy leadin' the troops."

"Excuse me."  The pair's eyes turned, looking at the third party in the mix, his anger contributing to the red flush in his face.  "As touching as this little scene is, it's making me just a little sick to my stomach here."  The knife came out of his pocket, catching the silver rays of the moon as it cut through the smoke.  "You should've just stayed inside, Buffy.  It would've been much cleaner that way."

The blade came sweeping forward, and though her instincts twisted her body to the side in more than enough time to avoid it, she felt Spike's body cross in front of hers, taking the edge of the weapon across his abdomen, the scent of fresh blood instantly mingling with the acrid smoke.

Mack danced back, his face tight.  "How gallant," he snarled, his composure falling to pieces before their eyes.

"And stupid!" Buffy exclaimed, straightening and pulling the vampire to face her.  Her gaze drank in the deep slash.  "Stop playing the hero in this, Spike," she ordered.  "If I can take on a group of rabid vamps, I think I can stay out of the way of one Napoleon wannabe."

"Sorry if my gut tells me to protect you," he growled, pressing his hand over the wound to staunch the flow of blood.  "You try arguing with instincts, see how far you get."

"_Soooo not the time for this," she warned._

"Oh, a lover's quarrel," Mack oozed.  "Please tell me this is just for me."

"Shut up!" Buffy barked, her eyes blazing as she glanced over at the club owner.  "You are the _last person I want to hear talking right now."_

He actually seemed to be contemplating her words, muscles twitching as he stared back at the pair of them.  "No," he finally said.  "You seem to be forgetting, I'm the one with the power here."  The blade of his knife flashed in the moonlight.

"And what power would that be?" she replied.  "You haven't been able to kill us, Mack, in spite of numerous attempts.  You haven't even been able to seriously hurt us, for that matter.  A cut here, some arson there, and we're still standing in front of you, still alive, still together.  And you?  You.  Are very.  Much.  Alone."  She took a step toward him, gaze steady as she watched him begin to retreat.  "It's really quite sad, actually.  Everything you've tried---having us killed, trying to make yourself some Spike shish kebab, the little bonfire of your vanity back there---has been just a big pile of backfire on you, 'cause instead of taking him away from me, you've only pushed us closer together.  Know why?"  She waited, almost as if she really expected him to respond, before continuing.  "Because now I don't have any doubts.  Not that I had many, but what was there?  All gone.  Poof.  And all thanks to you."

"You two deserve each other," Mack spat, stumbling slightly as his heel caught on a loose stone on the sidewalk.

Buffy continued her slow advance.  "Don't be expecting a party, though.  I get cranky when people try to kill me.  Kind of destroys the trust, you know?"  She opened her mouth to go on, ready to keep talking for as long as it took, when Mack suddenly convulsed, his head thrown back, mouth agape, arms locked at his sides.  

They both felt the power in the air, and the Slayer stopped in her tracks, even going so far as taking a step backwards, to watch as the magic poured over the man's slight body, wrapping him in an orange mantle for what seemed an eternity before dropping him to the ground.  She looked down at his semi-conscious form, noting the knife that now rested on the ground at his side, and slowly smiled.

"You want the first punch?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at Spike.

"Ladies first."  He watched as she turned back to the painting's safety, the concentration etched in her brow, and grinned as she leapt forward, leg extended, foot connecting with Mack's jaw in a crunching blow that sent his head reeling against the sidewalk.

Buffy rolled to safety a few feet away and beamed over at Spike.  "God, did that feel good."

The vampire watched as the other man struggled to his feet, staggering sideways as he tried to walk away.  "This is just goin' to be too easy," he growled, and tackled Mack's legs, sending both of them in a sprawling heap of various body parts, his fist throwing blow after blow while his other hand maintained a grip on the man's shirt so that he couldn't squirm away.  He felt the muscles bruise under his power, bones crumbling into shards as sharp as the broken glass behind them, and stopped only when Buffy's hand settled on his shoulder.

"You're going to kill him like that," she said.

His lips twisted into a smile.  "Thought that was the whole idea."

Her gaze was steady.  "I can't let you kill a human, Spike.  You know that."

"And I can't let you kill one, either, Slayer, so guess we're at a stalemate."  He sat back on his heels, Mack's unconscious body between his thighs.  

"This is my job."

"We've had this discussion before---."

"And you know the rules!"

Both of their tempers were starting to rise, and Spike deliberately took an unnecessary breath, showing her he wasn't going to take her bait.  "Are you goin' to stake me if I do it?" he asked.

The question took her off-guard.  "What?  Why would I do that?"

"That was the condition of the rules, _your rules, I might add.  I break one, you stake me.  So I'm askin'.  Would you really stake me if I did this?"_

Buffy bit her lip, frowning.  It seemed like forever ago since she'd made up those damn rules, and this was really the first opportunity that had come up for her to test them.  No killing humans, she'd said.  She'd really meant no feeding off them and killing them in the process, but hadn't actually said that out loud at the time, not realizing that they would ever be placed in this situation.  And staking Spike for doing what would essentially be a good thing for the Scoobies?  Even she couldn't rationalize that away.  

"No," she finally said, "I guess not."

"Well then."  Spike smiled.  "Problem solved."

She grabbed his wrist before he could turn back to Mack.  "Why do you want to do this?" she asked.

His face softened.  "Truth?  'Cause he pissed me off.  Thought he could hurt you and I wouldn't do anything about it.  So tastes a little like revenge to me."  His head tilted as his blue eyes bore into hers.  "Does that change your answer?"

Buffy's grip relaxed just ever so slightly.  "No."

*************

It practically leapt out of his hands, causing Xander to jerk forward in an effort to keep it steady.  "Whoa, Nellie," he said, his eyes widening as he looked down at the painting, its colors all of a sudden seemingly to glow as if from within.

Anya peered over his shoulder.  "I'm going to say Mack's dead," she said.  

"So, what now?" Xander asked, looking over at Giles as he stood guard by the car.

"We touch it and go home," the older man replied.  He straightened as Spike and Buffy emerged from the smoke in the road, arms around each other, the blood still dripping down the vampire's front from the slash Mack had made.  "Are you all right?" he asked, his worried gaze darting between the pair of them.

"I can honestly say I've been better," Buffy replied, and immediately noticed the huddle on the sidewalk, Gino cradling an unconscious Willow in his arms as Tony leaned back against the streetlight.  She rushed forward.  "What happened?"

"She passed out after the spell," the bouncer said.  "I think it was just a little too much for her."

Buffy glanced over at the trumpet player.  "You didn't do this, did you?" she accused.

"No!"  His denial was vehement.  "It was the reversal.  It sucked everything out of her to do it."

"He's right," Giles interjected.  "She was fine until the spell was completed.  She's just…drained."

The Slayer looked around at her friends.  "I can't believe I finally get to say this, but it looks like it's finally time to go home," she said.  "Who wants to be first?"

*************

One by one, the Scooby gang touched the painting.  Giles went first, in spite of Anya's protest about going in reverse order of arrival, followed immediately by Tony and Melinda, then Xander…Anya…and finally Spike.  Before laying his hand on the canvas, he looked back at Buffy and smiled.  "See you on the other side."

When it was just Buffy and Willow left, Gino finally spoke, saying his first words since the Watcher had disappeared into a rainbow of light.  "She's not going to be able to touch it on her own," he said, brushing the red hair away from her still-closed lids.  "Someone's going to have to help her."

"I can do it," Buffy replied, her voice equally low.  "That's how Spike came through with me in the first place.  If I hold her, she should go back with me."

His black eyes met hers.  "Let me do it."

There was a pause.  "You don't have to---."

"I want to."  His gaze returned to Willow's face.  "All I've been able to think about since I found out about you guys is what was it going to be like around here without her.  Would I remember her?  Would it even be worth it?  And I thought, maybe, if there was a way for me to go back with Willow, then I'd do just about anything to make it happen."

"It might not work, you know," Buffy said gently.  "This is the world you belong in."

"No, _Willow__'s is the world I belong in."  Gino looked up at the young blonde.  "Besides, as crazy as these past few days have been, I gotta admit, they've been the best I can ever remember.  You and Spike are the best friends I've ever had.  The way I figure it, what've I got to lose?"_

She smiled, in spite of herself.  "Well, you'd definitely make a good Scooby," she said.  "Finding Tony was a trick and a half.  I don't think I've thanked you enough for that."

He ducked his head.  "Nah, that was just dumb luck"

"I'll take any kind of luck I can get if it gets results like that," she shot back with a grin.  Leaning forward, Buffy kissed him lightly on the cheek.  "Here's hoping I see you in Sunnydale…"

To be concluded in Chapter 43: For You, For Me, Forevermore…


	43. For You, For Me, Forever More

DISCLAIMER: Everything but the plot is Joss'.  Too bad.  Oh, and the lyrics at the end are written by Ira Gershwin.  
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY:  Mack is dead and the Scoobies have gone home to Sunnydale, with Gino going to try and follow if he could…

*************

The first thing she did was call Giles.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his worry peeking through the exhaustion in his voice.  "How's Willow?"

Buffy glanced back at the sleeping form of her roommate.  "Will's out like a light," she said, barely able to stifle her own yawn, "and I got a feeling I'm going to be hitting the hay as soon as I get off the phone with you."

"Xander called.  He and Anya arrived back at his place safely."

"What about Spike?  Did he come through chained up in your bathtub?"  She couldn't help the smile on her face as the image flashed across her mind's eye.  Maybe they would be able to find another use for those chains…

There was a pause.  "Buffy…"

She knew immediately something was wrong.  "What?" she demanded.  "Tell me he's OK, Giles.  I didn't go through all this for him not to be OK."

"I don't know how he is.  He's…not here."

She felt the chill settle over her bones.  "Where else would he be?  He was living with you when we went through."  Though she fought the instinct, Buffy couldn't help but let her eyes slide to the window, and the sunlight streaming through it.  "You don't think…"

"I'm sure he's fine," Giles insisted.  "This is Spike.  You of all people should know that he's very resourceful.  I wouldn't be surprised if he showed up on my doorstep any minute now."

"I guess he does know where the blood train is," she mused, still not convinced, but not willing to consider the alternatives at this point.  "Will you have him call me the instant he shows up?"

She just knew he was rubbing his eyes behind his glasses as she heard him sigh.  "Of course.  Get some rest, Buffy.  It's been an incredibly tiring day."

As she hung up the phone, the images of Spike catching fire in the California sunshine tumbled through her head, melting into a collage of blond hair, black leather, and blue eyes, before settling into dust.  It couldn't end like this; what happened to the happy ending she was supposed to get?  The fates wouldn't be so cruel as to give her Spike, only to take him away again in a sick sense of irony, would they?

She shook her head.  Nope.  Not going to think of it like that.  Sleep.  That's what she needed.  And she'd be up as soon as the phone rang.  Because he _would call.  He __would come back.  He was supposed to never leave._

He promised.  

*************

There was no joy in either girl's shoulders as they walked slowly through the campus, books tucked in their arms, faces bereft of smiles.  Though the occasional person greeted them as they passed, their responses were perfunctory, their true thoughts elsewhere.

"I can't believe how much I have to make up," Willow said.  "But at least they're all buying the virus story.  I've gotten so much sympathy from my professors, it's scary."

"At least they know who you are," Buffy groused.  "When I went up to get the missed work, I had two different teachers ask me if I was even _in their class."_

"Ouch."   The redhead bit her lip.  "What happened with Riley?" she asked gently.  "I saw that he cornered you while I was talking to Dr. Walsh."

"I think it was more of an ambush," she complained, the all-too recent memory of their conversation still annoyingly fresh in her mind.  "I decided to play the grown-up card and tell him I couldn't see him anymore."

"And?"

"And he asked why."

"Did you tell him about Spike?"

"Yep.  Not fun, let me tell you, especially since it wasn't that long ago I was telling him Spike didn't even exist and that I'd only pretended to be engaged to yank his chain."  Buffy sighed.  "I told him Spike and I had had a fight which was why I was pretending not to know him, but now we're back together, so obviously Riley and I couldn't date anymore."

"He was OK with that?"

"No.  So I switched decks and starting playing my I'm-a-flake cards."

"And…?"  

The Slayer rolled her eyes.  "He said he was from Iowa and he _liked corn."  She bristled when Willow stifled a giggle by covering her mouth with her hand.  "I'm glad my lovelife amuses you so much, 'cause it wasn't exactly a walk in the park for me."_

The young witch deliberately frowned, pursing her lips together in an effort to keep the laughter at bay.  "This better?"

"Much.  So anyway, I said I thought I was more of the snowflake variety---."    

"Iowa gets snow."

"Thanks.  Know that now.  Somehow I forget all these little details when my mouth starts going."  Buffy shook her head.  "After that, I just stopped tiptoeing around the whole issue, said it was over and walked away.  How much you wanna bet I fail psych now?"

They strolled along in silence, and Willow had to physically bite her lip to stop from making a comment about letting Riley go so quickly.  They had been back for over a day now, and still no sign of Spike.  Buffy wasn't talking about it, but the redhead knew the pain she was going through, could see the disappointment in her friend's face every time anything regarding the painting came up.  But she also knew that hope still flared there, and maybe it was a good thing the Riley thing happened when it did.  It proved to Willow at least just how serious Buffy was about the blond vampire.

Spike wasn't the only one missing in action.  When they'd finally woken up that morning, the first thing the young witch had done was ask her friend what had happened those last few minutes before everyone came through the painting.  It was then that she learned about Gino's attempts to come with them, and her hopes had been running rampant ever since she'd opened her eyes in her own bed.  The first thing she'd done was check to see if there was a phone listing for him, and when that turned up nothing, she'd gone to the campus directory.  Still nada.  It didn't necessarily mean he hadn't made it, but as the day wore on, Willow's expectations were lessening, her mood sinking, until now, she wasn't sure what to think.

"Y'know what I was wondering?" Buffy mused, her face thoughtful.  "The whole heart's desire thing of the painting.  I mean, I know I got mine and I'm pretty sure Spike got his, and you were on the happy train there for a while as well, but what about Giles?  And Xander, or Anya?       How come they didn't get anything?"

"I'm not so sure about Giles," Willow offered.  "I think if it had played out, something would've happened with the singing stuff."

"Because he's secretly dreaming of being Bing Crosby?"  She shook her head.  "Thank you so much for starting _those nightmares again."_

"And Xander's easy.  He was so miserable about everything that happened, I don't think he would've recognized his heart's desire if it came up and slapped him in the face with a dead fish."

Buffy almost smiled. "OK, Miss Insightful, what about Anya?"

There was a pause and then Willow shook her head.  "Nope.  Not a clue.  One of the great mysteries of life, I guess."

The library loomed in front of them, bringing with it the brakes on any flights of fancy, returning them to the all-too real world of college and homework.  Neither girl really wanted to be there, but the pressures of needing to get caught up dictated their actions, forcing their feet to close the distance between them and their academic future.

It took a second for Willow to notice when Buffy halted, hazel gaze fixed curiously on the library's front doors.  The redhead turned her head, following her friend's line of sight, and realized then that it wasn't the building's entrance that had captured her attention.

He looked impossibly large sitting on the bench just outside the door, hands folded awkwardly in his lap as he watched the students come and go.  Every few seconds, those hands would ball into fists before stretching wide, only to return to their folded position in front of him.

Her heart was pounding as she slowly walked up to him, books clutched tightly against her chest, her throat suddenly dry, and stopped just a few feet away.  "This seat taken?" she asked, all efforts to make it sound casual consuming her every spare bit of energy.

Gino's head jerked up at the first sound of her voice, and the look of relief that creased his face was only matched in magnitude by his smile.  "You got no idea how glad I am to see you," he said.

Willow slid onto the space next to him.  "I think I've got an idea."

"How do you feel?  You look tired.  Aren't you sleeping?"  His black eyes searched her face, one hand automatically coming up to push the hair off her brow, only to hesitate halfway, faltering as he debated its appropriateness, before settling back into his lap.

"Too much sleeping," she replied.  "Twenty-four hours worth.  It's just exhausting getting back into the swing of things."  Her own reach was tentative, a thin hand resting on his denim-clad knee.  "What about you?  Where've you been?"

"Trying to find you.  Do you have any idea how hard you are to find?"

She frowned.  "Me?  At least I'm in the campus directory.  According to every phone listing in Sunnydale, you don't exist.  Where do you live?"

"An apartment near where I work.  But I got a roommate.  Everything could be in his name."

Buffy spoke up for the first time since approaching Gino.  "It's not…Spike, is it?" she asked, unable to disguise the hope in her voice.

He shook his head.  "Nah.  Some little guy named Jonathan.  I tried asking him some questions when I first got here, but half of what came out of his mouth didn't make any sense to me, so I just gave up."  He looked at Willow.  "Who's Boba Fett?"

She giggled.  "Nobody you have to worry about right now.  But, how come you didn't call me?"

"Well, I had work last night---."

"Work?  You said that before.  You have a job?"

"Yeah.  Bartending.  Someplace called the Bronze."  He blushed.  "Girls don't…wear very much in your world, do they?"  Willow and Buffy just exchanged amused glances as the dark-haired man went on.  "Anyways, I thought I'd try again this morning, but I got nowhere trying to find where the student information is.  There's no book or anything…"

"That's 'cause everything's on…"  She bit her lip.  "…computers.  And you would have no idea about those.  Hence, no call."

"I don't know how you do it."  The amazement in his voice sent a gleam of admiration to his eyes.  "You got a gadget for everything here.  Like, I stopped and got some coffee this morning on the way here, and the mug behind the counter spent five minutes whipping up the milk so that it was all foam.  I don't get it; I always thought the milk was supposed to go _in the coffee, not sit on top of it.  It don't make sense to me."_

"So…why are you here?  In front of the library, I mean."

Gino ducked his head as he smiled in embarrassment.  "I figured if I couldn't find your room, I'd just wait at the one place I knew you'd eventually show up.  Smartest girl I know's gotta go to the library some time."

As she watched the two talk on the bench, Buffy couldn't help the swell of mixed emotions that ran over her…happiness for Willow that she wasn't going to have deal with another heartache…sympathy for Gino as he struggled to come to grips with the changes coming through the painting had given him…there was even a tinge of jealousy as their growing ease brought lingering touches to the other's person.  Where are you, Spike? she thought sadly.  And why the hell haven't you shown up yet?

*************

Tucking the stake into the back of her trousers, Buffy hurried along the campus path, head bent, mouth set.  Six vamps down, and she still felt the surge of adrenalin pushing through her veins in a heated stream.  Contrary to what she'd believed, slaying hadn't worked to distract her; she felt more charged now then when she'd left her dorm three hours ago.  Maybe I will go to the Bronze, she thought irritably.  I shouldn't have turned down Willow's invitation in the first place if I was just going to end up feeling like this anyway.

Each time her stake had plunged into a vampire's chest, the briefest of contact with the undead flesh in that second before it turned into dust had sent Buffy's senses into overload, shortening her breath, tunnelling her vision, until at one point, she'd considered packing it in for the night just because she feared for her own safety.  Last thing I need now is to lose concentration, she thought.  And it's all because of Spike.  Stupid bleached undead.  

Over thirty-six hours, and there was still no sign of him.  As each minute passed, she couldn't help but think that the odds of him getting dropped off in the middle of some sunny field, only to explode in a big pile of dust, were growing.  For all I know, he's blowing somewhere over Colorado now, she grumbled.  Which is probably just as well because if he was here right now, I'd stake his ass for doing this to me.

It was an empty threat, and she knew it, but it didn't stop the feelings from bubbling up into her throat, or the tears springing into her eyes.  Angrily, she wiped them away before they could make the fall down her cheeks.  Bastard said he wouldn't leave.  It wasn't fair.  Should've known vampires don't keep their word, even if they do love you.  Should've known better than to fall in love with him myself.

As she neared the front door to her dorm, Buffy felt the familiar crawl over her skin announcing the nearby presence of a vampire.  Great, she thought.  One more slay to just make this a wholloping grand night out.  In a flash, the stake was back in her hand, and she froze in her tracks, head turning from side to side as she scanned the lawn, waiting for the demon to show its face.  A streak of black out of the corner of her eye caused her to duck, and the Slayer felt the body go flying over her head, rolling to a halt just a few feet away.

"I hope you're not looking for a long fight tonight," Buffy said, "because I'm really not in the mood to drag this out any longer than I have to."

"Actually, I rather fancied a dance."

She felt the air get sucked from her lungs as the vampire straightened, lips curled into that familiar smirk, his blue eyes dancing in merriment.  The cut on his face was already healing, a red arc that hinted at the possibility of another scar on that porcelain skin, but other than that, Spike seemed very much his old self.  Black t-shirt, black jeans, cocky attitude.  It was the missing duster that had thrown her when he'd first arrived.  Probably still at Giles', she thought, and then remembered her previous feelings, more specifically, her anger.

"Where the hell have you been?" she demanded.

He cocked his scarred eyebrow.  "And hello to you, too, Slayer," he drawled.  "For some reason, I thought you'd be glad to see me."  His gaze travelled down to the stake she still clutched tightly in her hand.

"Gee, and for some reason, I thought you'd actually have the courtesy to tell the woman you _claimed to love that you're alive…or dead…or, you know, not able to be sucked up by a vacuum cleaner."  _

He chuckled, taking the few steps to stand before her.  "Nice to see you care," he murmured, his head dipping as his mouth trailed over her cheek.  

Buffy felt his hands curl into her hips, pulling her against him, the sculpture of his body melting into hers.  For a moment, her eyelids fluttered shut, savoring the sensation of his cheek against her, his tongue darting to taste the flavor of the tender skin just below her ear, and the groan rose unbidden to her throat.  God, she'd missed him…

And the thought brought her crashing back, the reality that he was obviously fine and yet hadn't bothered to see her before now throwing cold water over her excitement.  As Buffy pulled away, she relaxed her hold on the stake, sliding it into its place at the small of her back.  "Sorry to see you don't," she said.  "Or is this how you're seeing us, now that we're back in Sunnydale?  We go on with our lives as normal, except now you've got a fuck-a-Slayer free card?"

His smile faded, eyes darkening.  "I told you before and I meant it."

"Told me what?"

"I'm not interested in goin' back to the way things were.  Thought you understood that."

"Then where have you been?"

His eyes were bottomless as he just gazed at her…thirty seconds…a minute…and then he held out his hand.  "C'mon," he said.  "Wanna show you something."

Taking it was automatic, and she was walking at his side, heading toward her dorm, before she realized she hadn't even hesitated.  So much for being pissed at him, she thought crossly.  One little gesture and she was his, and the thing of it was…he knew it.

They were both silent as they stopped in front of Buffy's room, and she looked up at him, the tiniest of lines between her brows.  "You wanna show me my door?" she quizzed.

"No, I was hopin' for a spot of privacy.  Is Red in?"

She shook her head.  "She's Bronzing it tonight."  Her face lit up.  "I forgot to tell you, Gino's here."

Spike nodded.  "Good for them," he said, then looked pointedly at the still-closed door before turning back to the young blonde at his side.

The lock slid open, allowing the two entrance, and Buffy watched as Spike closed the door shut behind him.  "Are you going to tell me now?" she asked.  "Or do we continue playing twenty questions?"

"Ask away."  He didn't even look at her, just walked over to her stereo and began playing with buttons.

"Where were you yesterday?"

"Showed up in a crypt alongside that Melinda bird," he replied, intent on the electronics before him.  "Bein' as it was still daytime, I spent the day there, waitin' for the sun to go down."

"And last night?  Why didn't you come by, or go to Giles', or something?"

He glanced back at her, blue eyes inscrutable.  "First off, Rupert doesn't like me so why would I give him a toss?  Secondly, I did come by."  He turned back to the stereo.  "You just didn't know it 'cause you were asleep.  Waited until dawn for you to come out, but when you didn't, I headed back to the crypt since I didn't fancy giving Mack the cremation he was so hot for."  Music came filtering from the speakers, and Spike's lean fingers quickly scanned across the dial before settling on a particular station.

For a moment, it was déjà vu, the silky tones of the saxophone caressing Buffy's skin with its familiar chocolaty tones, and her breath caught as the blond vampire stepped toward her.  "I still fancy that dance," he murmured, taking her hand in his and pulling her against him in sultry rhythm with the radio.  

They could've been anywhere…back in the painting…at the club…under the stars…and Buffy wouldn't have known the difference.  Here, in the circle of Spike's arms, the world around her melted away, leaving her in the warmth of the certainty of his feelings for her.  As her cheek pressed against his chest, their bodies moved in unison to the instrumental, and she felt his hardness press into her hips.

"That doesn't feel like dancing," she said, a slight chuckle in her voice.

He didn't answer, just pulled himself far enough away so that she couldn't lean against him anymore.  When she looked up to see what was wrong, she was met by his descending lips, taking hers in a kiss that promised tomorrows, tasting of that tangy flavor that was uniquely Spike's.  The kiss deepened, lips parting to allow his tongue to slide into her mouth, finding hers in a tangle of fire, swallowing down her very air as his hands slid down the curve of her spine to settle in the small of her back.  

Panting, Buffy broke away, hazel eyes darkened as she gulped for breath.  "I'm still mad at you," she announced, but the hint of a smile on her lips belied her sincerity.

Spike shrugged.  "So what else is new?" 

She giggled as he pressed her down onto the bed.  "You said you wanted to show me something," she reminded.  "If this is it, I'm going to be very disappointed."

His lips pursed in a mock pout.  "And here I thought you were just glad I wasn't dust," he said.  "Turns out you're a material girl after all."  Her jaw dropped, and she slapped good-naturedly at his chest, making him laugh as he sat back.  "But, yeah, since you brought it up…"

Buffy propped herself up on her elbows as Spike reached inside the neckline of his t-shirt, pulling out the silver necklace he characteristically wore.  "Sorry to tell you this," she said lightly, "but I've seen that before."

"No, you silly bint."  He leaned forward, holding out the bottom of the chain.  "This."

She noticed it then, the two tiny silver rings hanging from the links, and frowned as she reached forward, one finger tracing the circlets.  "Know what happened in the painting doesn't mean anything here on the Hellmouth," Spike continued.  "But doesn't mean I don't still feel the sentiment.  I just wanted you to see it still means somethin' to me, even if it's not on my finger anymore."

"But…you have two."

She couldn't read what was churning in those blue eyes as they bore into hers.  "Think of it as…wishful thinking," he said, and with a half-smile, let the chain fall back against his chest.  The vampire began to press forward again, shoulders over hers, only to be stopped by Buffy's hand against his shirt.  

"Wait," she said, as he frowned, and slid out from underneath him, sitting up on the edge of the bed.  Pulling out the chain around her own neck, she reached behind to undo the clasp, letting it fall into her hand before turning to look back at him.

He didn't ask, but knew, and mirrored her own actions, removing the heavy links, holding it out for Buffy to slowly extract one of the rings before watching her thread it onto her own necklace.  When it rested back on the velvet of her skin, Spike couldn't resist extending his own finger to trace its path around her neck, stopping at the hollow in her throat where the ring lay nestled, tremoring ever so slightly as it rested on the pulsepoint there.

"I love you, Buffy," he murmured.  "But I wasn't…you didn't…"

She took her hand in his and brought it to her lips, kissing its palm as she pulled him back on top of her.  "I know," she replied.  "That's why."

Their second kiss swept both of them into the heat of their bodies, losing themselves from the world around them, oblivious to the song softly filling the dorm room's walls.

_It's plain to see_

_We found, by finding each other_

_The love we waited for_

_I'm yours, you're mine_

_And in our hearts_

_The happy ending starts_

_What a lovely world_

_This world will be_

_With a world of love in store_

_For you, for me, forever more…___

The End.

Author's Note:  Just a quick thank you to everyone for all the wonderful feedback.  I'm glad that other people had as much fun with it as I did.


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